


you only feel one emotion at a time

by likelightninginabottle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Acceptance, Alternate Universe - Not Everyone Lives But Definitely Some People Live, Anchors, And Then Immediately Going Back to Sleep, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apparent Passionate Lovemaking in the Bread Aisle, Because It Was Dumb That They Died in Canon and I Make the Rules Here, Canon-Typical Violence, Chemistry and Crystallization as Taught By Lydia Martin, Childhood Trauma, Coming Out, Deep Fried Flip Phones, Does It Count as Self-Harm If You Know It Will Grow Back, Emotional Revelations in Disgusting Bathtubs, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, God I love that tag, Good Theo Raeken, Healing, Homeless Theo Raeken, Homelessness, Hunters, Hurt Theo Raeken, Hurt/Comfort, I use the term humor here pretty loosely, Idiots in Love, Inadvisable and Horribly Violent Stapler Use, Inductive Reasoning, Liam Dunbar is Theo Raeken's Anchor, Liam Dunbar vs Public Decency, Liam's Diet Consists ONLY of Pie and Hot Chocolate, Lunar Magick and Astral Projections, M/M, McCall Pack, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, My Little Pony Crop Tops, OTP: Liam Dunbar and his Pie, OTP: Theo Raeken and His Trusty Stapler, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Road Trips, Snorting Lines of Wolfsbane Off The Hood of Your Father Figure's Car, Soulmates, Stiles Stilinski's Secret Stash of Prison Cheetos, Surprisingly Accurate Science, Tenderness-Induced Cardiac Arrest, The Inherent Eroticism of Napoleonic Battle Tactics, The Mystery of How Liam Hid Being a Werewolf For So Long Remains a Mystery, The Severed Foot in the Dumpster Out Back, The Trauma That We Understand and the Trauma That We Don't, Theo Raeken Backstory, Theo Raeken is Liam Dunbar's Anchor, Theo Raeken's Absolutely Horrifying Internal Monologue, Theo Raeken's Criminally Distracting Stubble, Theo Raeken's Redemption Arc, Toothpaste as a Hate Crime, Torture, Unbothered Attitude or Hypothermia-Induced Loss of Sensation? Liam is Unsure, Uncomfortable Conversations with One's Parents, Vision Boards as Stress Relief, Waking Up To Three Mystery Corpses In Your Bathroom, We Didn't Start the Fire Plays in the Background, What We Say About Coincidences, Why Theo Is No Longer Allowed at Panda Express, Yeah you know where this is going, bear w me pls I promise I'll improve, god these tags are a mess, i'll fix them later it's fine, kind of, lets see if anyone else does, like soulmates don't exist but they're soulmates :), okay this is my first stab at writing so I don't know how to tag, surprise character cameos, they're cute i don't make the rules, what can i say i think im funny, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:42:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 98,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26937580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likelightninginabottle/pseuds/likelightninginabottle
Summary: Even with Theo's perverted-supernatural healing, spending a good part of his supernatural adolescence being cut open on a surgical table by the Dread Doctors, over and over again, without any anesthetic, leaves marks. Maybe not physical ones, but scars don't need to be on the outside to hurt. Theo's not worried, because he stopped hurting a long time ago.(Or: Theo doesn't feel pain. It makes him reckless. The pack doesn't notice, until they do.)
Relationships: Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Scott McCall & Theo Raeken, Theo Raeken & Stiles Stilinski, Theo Raeken & The Pack
Comments: 463
Kudos: 482





	1. it starts with bloodshed, always bloodshed, always the same running from something larger than yourself story

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! oh my god! This is my first time writing anything so it's kind of an experiment. I'm pretty sure there are like 5 people left in this ship but that's too bad because I love it so much. This is an idea that I've wanted fic for, for SO long, but I've never seen it anywhere, so I decided to write it myself. I'll update the tags as the story progresses, and the rating might change, but I've plotted this one out, so don't worry too much about it. Also, how do people write summaries???? I haven't written enough of this to have a good passage to pull from, so I just threw something together. I hadn't really thought about all the WIP's having good summaries until now. But hey, the more you know.
> 
> I don't own these characters! Jeff Davis does.
> 
> I was going to wait until I had written more to post it, but unfortunately I am a person of no patience so here you go. VERY unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. enjoy!

It starts where everything these days seems to end; the hospital. In that aspect alone, it seems fitting: the beginning of the end. But that’s not important right now.

What _is_ important _,_ is that the first time Liam actually notices something, it’s barely even a blip on his radar.

He feels like his senses are dialed up to eleven, a repeating internal mantra of ‘we won, we won, we won, we—‘ echoing in his ears, but barely audible over the pounding of his own heart. It’s all he can hear, and all he can smell is gunpowder and desperation so painfully raw that it takes all the strength in his supernaturally-enhanced body to swallow down the acidic bile that rises in the back of his throat.

And all he can see is Theo taking Gabe’s pain, as the life drains slowly from his bullet-ridden body. It feels like it’s seared into the back of his eyelids, the afterimage of a florescent lightbulb that was burning too bright. He can't stop the stinging in his eyes and it feels like his skin is too small for his body, stretched too tight and thin around his aching bones.

\---

(Mason comes straight to Liam’s house after his field trip with Theo through the tunnels; tired, terrified, and a little guilty. They’re lying on Liam’s bed, feet still flat on the ground, shoulder-to-shoulder, the way they do sometimes when everything gets to be too much. Liam relaxes into the feeling of Mason’s familiar, strong arm pressing into his own. It feels like an arm that can catch him — that _has_ caught him — when he falls. They already talked about the important stuff— the Anuk-Ite finding it’s other half, the hunters getting more desperate and more dangerous, the ominous calm before the storm, and the tension so palpable, everyone is just waiting for someone to _snap_ — but there’s something else eating at Mason, he can _tell,_ the way Mason can always tell when Liam’s about to explode, and so stays quiet, letting his eyelids slip shut while Mason picks compulsively at the dried blood flaking off his fingertips.

“ _I told him it was because he didn’t care,”_ Mason finally says, eyes still focused firmly on his hands, and _oh, this is about Theo_. Liam’s not even surprised. These days, it feels like everything's about Theo. Liam slides his eyes back open to watch Mason press the heel of his hand into the bridge of his nose, and tries to calm the clenching of his own traitorous heart. “ _I don’t even know why I said it,”_ Mason huffs out a sardonic laugh. “ _He was trying_ really damn _hard to take my pain, and when he couldn’t it was like. . .”_

Liam grips his forearm solidly. “ _I’m sure he doesn’t—“ even care what we think of him_ , is what Liam’s about to say, even though it’s definitely a lie, albeit a reassuring one, but Mason‘s already shaking his head.

 _“No, you didn’t—“_ Mason massages his temples, shuts his eyes, and groans. “ _Liam, you didn’t see_ his face _. It was. . . It was like I told him. . .”_

And Liam let’s him trail off because he can imagine _exactly_ what his face looked like _. I’m a knock-off_ , Theo had once told him, whispering over the hum of the truck beneath them _._ He was talking about being a chimera, but Liam’s pretty sure he was talking about being a person too. Like he wanted to be human _so_ much but couldn’t quite figure out how, and Liam’s heart _aches_ because maybe there was a time when he didn’t give a flying fuck whether Theodore Raeken had his feelings hurt, but if there was, it had slipped by, snuck past him, sometime between _being the bait_ and Theo talking him down from a rampage, low voice raspy and condescending and distracting all at once, straight into his ear. Mason finally turns to him, meeting his eyes.

 _“I don’t feel bad about it,”_ he says, but Liam doesn’t even need to listen to his heartbeat to know it’s a lie, he can see it in the tension around his eyes, and he’s not even sure which one of them Mason’s trying to convince. _“I_ don't.” Mason flings his newly blood-free hand down on the mattress, stretching like he’s trying to get comfortable, but can’t quite seem to. “ _He’s a murder. A bad person. Like,_ really _bad. He fought with us, like, a couple times? And we’re just supposed to. . . What? Forgive him?”_ Mason scoffs. The contemplative silence that follows signals very clearly that he's done talking about it, but Liam can still smell the guilt as easily as he can smell Corey's aftershave on Mason's neck. He doesn't offer up his own thoughts on the matter because these days he's starting to think he might be a little biased. Theo's still kind of a jackass but he's a jackass who _gets_ Liam in a way that most people (read: literally everyone else on the face of the Earth besides Mason, Scott, and his Mom) don't. He hasn't seen Theo in a little bit, and all of a sudden, he desperately wishes that they were the kind of friends who could seek each other out to check up on each other, but he thinks if he tried, Theo would be confused and wary and kind of offended, so he pushes the thought away, and squeezes Mason's shoulder comfortingly, and they spend the rest of the night quiet, thinking.)

\---

Liam's playing the scene in his head as he sees the black lines run from Theo's forearm to underneath his shirt, and he honestly forgets how to breathe at the raw expression on Theo's face, everyone in the hospital hallway frozen to the spot, cloistered around the two broken children on the floor, watching the pain slowly leave Gabe's frame. _"Does it hurt?"_ Theo asks, and Gabe says _"No_ ," and Liam's eyes are starting to sting, but he if anyone asks it's because of the gunpowder lingering in the air and not the overwhelming pride blooming in his chest. (No one asks, but Liam thinks it's important to keep up appearances, even if it's just in his own head. Denial, not just a river in Egypt, and all that.)

In the aftermath, Liam loses track of him. Argent, the Sheriff and Agent McCall came to clear out the weapons and take stock of the bodies, and Melissa ushers him, Mason, and Corey into a check-up room to get patched up. Liam turns and scans the room frantically before the view of the hallway escapes him via Melissa's iron grip, but he still doesn't feel Theo's around, which means he isn't _here_ , because these days he can feel Theo's presence like a. . . He doesn't even know what. Liam can't even compare it to anything, but he can feel when Theo's around in his _bones_. Like an ever-present hum of static, making his heart beat faster and the hairs on his neck stand to attention.

"He left," Mason says, halting Liam's fruitless scan around the hospital, and Liam feels his heart sink, but he still meets Mason's eyes. "I saw him slip out the back right before Argent got here."

And Liam _worries_ as he absentmindedly lets himself be pulled into a hospital room, because he's _sure_ Theo took more than a couple bullets to the leg, and the thought of him limping back to his truck to stitch himself up hurts so much that he almost doubles over; hurts worse than the bruises and bullet holes in his own body. And then Liam worries even more, because without the Anuk-Ite, the obligation to help, Theo has nothing tying him to Beacon Hills. He could go right now, escape the godforsaken town that killed his sister, killed his family, sucked out his soul, sent him to Hell. He could get pretty far in that beat-up truck of his, far enough that Liam would probably never see him again, and Liam's feels the adrenaline course through his body again and his heart beats faster, panicked. _He can't leave_ , Liam thinks frantically. _He can't leave. I won't let him_.

"He'll be fine," Corey says gently, placing a comforting hand on Liam's shoulder, small and warm, and Theo wasn't even limping when he walked over to Gabe's body; not favoring one side over the other, not keeping the weight off either leg, and no one can hide pain _that_ well, not even a Dread Doctor-manufactured sociopath. So maybe Corey's right, and Theo's fine, and Liam lets go of the worry for now, finally letting the relief that comes with a temporary victory seep into him. He sits between Mason and Corey and lies down on the bed, and they mirror him, feet still flat on the ground, shoulder-to-shoulder, the way they do sometimes when everything gets to be too much. Liam shuts his eyes, and lets himself finally relax, for the first time in a long time.

\---

The next day Liam finally tells his parents.

He does it for a lot of reasons but mostly boils down to: one, they deserve to know and, and two, he doesn't know how to hide it anymore. Something that started out as a secret between a group of people somehow sprawled and stretched and expanded to overtake anything that had once been normal in Beacon Hills. Nowhere is normal anymore, and he needs to stop using that word because he's pretty sure they're going to have to redefine it . Everything is different, and everyone is different, and everywhere is different. The library is where Scott keeps almost-dying because of his debilitating sense of duty that three years as a "monster" hasn't managed to beat out of him. The hospital is where he and Theo seem to attract danger, and fight together like they were born to do it, back to back, fangs out, claws extended, eyes flashing. The school is where Liam was beaten to within an inch of his control, where Liam remembers feeling powerless, taking hit after hit because it was _his fault_. Even the goddamn lacrosse field he can't think about without remembering that one psychotic Deadpool assassin who hid a poison-dipped blade in his lacrosse stick, because Beacon Hills truly can't grant them a moment's fucking reprieve.

He knows how to hide the blood on his clothes -- sometimes, he wishes he didn't, but then he sees something like Theo taking Gabe's pain or Lydia's scream crumpling a solid steel door or the pack all squished onto a single oversized couch in Derek's bereft loft, and thinks maybe it's worth it after all -- but not _this_ much blood. And he definitely doesn't know how to explain the weird looks people in town have already started giving him; guilty, resigned, and the kind of terrified that thankfully just results in deliberate avoidance instead of panicked violence. He doesn't know how to hide it anymore, and he's exhausted by of the whole thing, and maybe he and his friends save lives on the regular, but he's barely eighteen, and he mostly just wants his parents. And so he makes his decision and bites the bullet.

He chooses the daytime because he doesn't actually know how they'll react, and his anxious mind has already conjured up every worst possible scenario he can imagine, and the last thing he wants to do is make them feel unsafe in their own home. He hopes the fangs and claws will look less frightening in the light of day, but as he gets back from the hospital and showers off the blood and grime, rebandaging his torso like Melissa told him to do, he plans. He plans as he pulls on new clothes, and he plans as he sits on the living room couch, waiting for the sun to rise and too wired to sleep.

It's almost dawn when he finally allows himself to finally act, because he's been putting it off throughout the night, hoping he could talk himself out of it. _Of course they wouldn't disown you_ , he tells himself. _Mom literally shifted her whole life to get you guys out of a bad situation. You're a team._ He inhales. Exhales. _Dad_ chose _to love you. You're not even his, but he loves you. On purpose. He loves you on purpose._ But his hands shake and his heart stutters, and his anxiety grows, and so he packs a bag. Just a small one; his backpack filled with some clothes, cash, food, and a toothbrush. _Just in case_ , he tells himself, because he might know his parents better than anyone in the world, but he's seen firsthand what fear can do to people; how it can turn them into something they're not, and so he resignedly zips the bag up, slinging it over his shoulder.

After some more quiet deliberation, he takes the bag downstairs with him, so he'll be okay if he needs to make a quick getaway, and he sits back down on the couch, watching the sun bathe their living room in beta-gold, quietly planning some more, and trying to quell the dread building in his stomach. His Mom comes downstairs at seven in the morning despite the fact that it’s the weekend, the way she does every day, like clockwork, and he faintly thinks _I'm really going to miss you_ , before he uses the leftover adrenaline from last night to build up his courage and walk up to her. She startles as she catches sight of him, and he probably looks awful -- tired and injured and absolutely terrified -- but he squares his shoulders and looks her straight in the eye.

"Mom," he greets, with a confidence that he _definitely_ doesn't feel. His voice comes out impressively even, considering he's mostly just trying not to throw up. "I think we need to talk."

She's nodding before he even finishes he sentence, like she's been waiting for this, and Liam abruptly feels bad. They're probably _worried_ about him not sleeping well and coming home at weird hours in the night with increasingly bizarre injuries. He wishes he had the foresight to hide the backpack, but its too late and she's already calling his Dad down, and then they're all sitting down on the couch, his parents sharing a look, expectant like they know exactly what he's about to say, and he _desperately_ hopes they're right, because if they've had their suspicions this entire time and still haven’t kicked him out, then maybe there's hope for him after all. And so he takes a steadying breath, before starting from the beginning.

It quickly becomes blindingly obvious that they were _not_ , in fact, aware, and that Liam's werewolf affliction is a complete and total surprise. They look disbelieving, and maybe like they suspect he's on some questionable drugs. Liam almost wishes he _was_ , because maybe that would be easier (or at least, less complicated), but he resigns himself to what's about to happen, and he's already made it this far, and so he slowly puts up his hand, telegraphing his every movement, and lets his blunt fingernails grow into claws. And no, they were _definitely_ not expecting this; his eyes flash and his Mom gasps and her eyes widen, and his Dad's expression is very carefully neutral, but his heart rate is going through the _roof_ and Liam's seen fear on a lot of people -- his biology teacher, the kids at school, Monroe's hunters, even Mason and Hayden at some point -- but he don't think he's _ever_ seen it on his parents, and he really can't bear to, so he's already up, heart racing and eyes burning, but he doesn't meet their eyes because he doesn't think he has it in him.

"Sorry," he croaks, shamed, tripping over his own feet, trying to get to the bag he had stuffed behind the couch. "Sorry, I'm _really_ sorry," he repeats, the room blurring as he fails to stop the hot tears spilling down his cheeks. "I just--" he tries, slinging the bag over his shoulder with shaking hands, "I just thought you should know, but I'll just--"

" _Liam_ ," his Mom interrupts, hand on his shoulder, voice like steel, and he startles a bit because she's _right_ in front of him, and he's been avoiding looking them in the eyes, but his Mom's expression is unreadable. "Let me see." Her hand moves from his shoulder to cup his face, and Liam tries not to lean into the contact, because he doesn't know how this is going to play out yet.

She waves away his confusion. "Liam," she coaxes, more gently, but this time it sounds like she's going to cry, which is somehow even _worse_. " _Baby boy_ ," she says, and now she really _is_ crying, which means Liam's _sobbing_ , but she still tries: "Show me."

And so Liam does.

She cries even harder and his Dad lets out a sharp inhale as her gentle fingertips explore his shifted face, lingering on the pointed ears and fangs, and Liam's honestly at his breaking point, before his Dad finally walks up to them, and he braces for the blow (metaphorically, of course, because even at his worst, Dr. Geyer wouldn't ever be Mr. Dunbar).

"Liam," he says, face looking drawn, like he's aged twenty years in the last fifteen minutes. _That's my fault_ , Liam thinks faintly, and then meets his Dad's eyes. "Liam," he tries again, voice coming out thick. He clears his throat, and puts his arms around Liam and his Mom. "You know this doesn't change anything," he says, and the throat-clearing didn't really help much, because he still sounds choked up. Liam's Mom is still exploring his face, crying quietly in the background. "You _have_ to know your Mom and I love you no matter what," he says, a little desperately, a little out of his element, before tightening his arms, bringing them both closer to his chest, holding them, and assures, voice full of steely resolve: "No matter what."

And Liam? Liam's _done_. His Dad is gripping his shoulder hard, grounding, and his mom is nodding frantically, and Liam's almost hysterical, and so he finally lets go for the first time in months, right there on the living room floor, and sobs in his parents' arms. It feels like oxygen finally returned to his lungs; the crushing weight of uncertainty lifted off his chest, and they're all crying, but it's so much better than none of them talking at all.

When he finally calms down enough for his sobs to subside into hiccups, his Dad maneuvers a steaming cup of hot chocolate into his hands, almost boiling, just the way he likes it, and the drink -- and the action -- warm him from the inside out.

He finally feels settled when his Mom sights the backpack still slung over one shoulder and furrows her brows. He sees her do it and stiffens, dread refilling his stomach as he hopes she won't ask. But then again, he's never been all that lucky. "Are you going to school today?" She flips her phone up, confirming the date. "Liam, it's a Saturday," she admonishes, still frowning. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Liam thinks it's kind of hilarious that he's been so _off_ lately that his parents doubt he knows his days of the week.

"Um," he replies eloquently, trying to find the words to say _I was worried you were going to kick me out_ , or maybe make up a believable lie, but if there's anything that's come from this exhausting morning, its that he's done with the lies, so he just comes out with it, as gently as he knows how. "No, I know," he assures. "This, " he gestures toward the bag, ignoring the guilt starting to pool in his stomach, "was just . . . You know." _Just in case_ is what he thinks, and its what he says out loud.

Unfortunately, his efforts to soften the blow are wasted, because his Mom understands _immediately_ , and her face crumples again, and Liam's guilt comes back tenfold, before she just pulls him into her chest, backpack and all, and squeezes him _tight_. Liam can hear her crying, and can feel the tears forming in his own eyes, and he lets her rock him back and forth, as she whispers reassurances into the crown of his head.

When they're settled _once again_ , emotionally drained, and out of tears, he repossesses his hot chocolate. His Mom is still wiping the tears from her face but she's done crying, and he finally feels like maybe everything is going to be okay. Liam gives them the rundown on the rest of it -- the Berserkers, the Deadpool, the Dread Doctors, before finally concluding with the hunter situation. He tells them about last night, the hospital, and they listen intently, and it feels so damn good to get everything off his chest after spending so long keeping it bottled up.

"Huh," his Dad says, looking like he's still processing.

"So, uh. Yeah," Liam rubs his neck, feeling awkward. Rehashing their adventures is somehow _more_ bizarre than experiencing them. "It's kind of messed up, but we're still trying to fix it. We still need to find Monroe, but for now . . ."

His Dad nods, still speechless. His Mom looks considering, which is starting to worry him, but she doesn't say anything either. He guesses the quiet is supposed to encourage him to talk, but it's just unnerving him . He struggles to find something to fill the silence, before a thought niggles at the back of his brain.

"Hey, so before I told you about the whole, uh, werewolf thing" Liam says, thinking, _it probably shouldn't be this awkward to just talk to your own parents_ , "you guys kind of seemed like. . . You were expecting me to say something else?" And _then_ it's his parents' turn to be awkward, his Dad's expression going carefully neutral again as he shifts uncomfortably, while his Mom looks sheepish. Liam is suddenly dreading the answer.

"Liam," his Dad starts, frighteningly solemn. Liam regrets everything. "You know we love you no matter what."

". . . Yeah?" Liam replies, because he _does_ , and he _especially_ does after their entire afterschool-special in the living room, but now he's worried. "What does that have to do with -- Mom?" He turns to his Mom helplessly. She fiddles with the handle of her mug, and tucks her hair behind her ear, like she's trying to buy time to think up the right words. Obviously, she doesn't take enough time, because what she comes out with is:

"We thought you were finally going to tell us that you . . . Uh," she frowns, turning to his Dad. "What's the lacrosse version of 'bat for both teams'? 'Stick for both teams'? They call them sticks right?" The frown _that_ elicits from his Dad is much more impressive. Liam is _very_ confused and also starting to miss the silence.

"One," says Dad, "don't remind him of that time he accidentally scored for the other team, hon, you know he's still sensitive about that." His Mom nods, agreeing, and Liam bristles, but before he can muster up an appropriately indignant retort, his Dad continues, "and two: I really don't think _stick_ is the word you'd want to go for if you're trying to have a serious conversation about sexuality instead of just, uh. Phallic imagery?"

And _that's_ when Liam finally catches the thread of what the _fuck_ his parents are talking about, chokes on an enormous sip of hot chocolate, and has a near-death experience as it enters is lungs, and is expelled violently out his nose. He groans, eyeing the hot chocolate, betrayed, as his nasal passages try to heal themselves from third degree burns. His Dad looks appropriately sympathetic to his pain, while his Mom just looks like she's trying not to laugh.

" _Phallic imagery?_ " Liam echoes faintly, scandalized and miserable, and his Mom absolutely _loses it_ , cackling, while his Dad looks uncomfortable.

" _Yeah_ ," his Dad exclaims, apparently defensive now. "Because it's like, _you know_ \-- " and then he makes some _truly awful_ hand gestures that Liam would honestly, genuinely endure trephination for, just to have them burned from his brain. He sees visits to Eichen in his near future. His Mom is on the floor, making noises like she's dying, tears running down her cheeks.

"I'm literally begging you to never do that again," Liam says, desperate. "I'll leave this family. Don't think I won't."

His Dad crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes, apparently unwilling to concede the point, but that's okay, because Liam's thoughts are going a mile a minute. He realizes he's been quiet too long to be considered normal, staring blankly into the cocoa puddle on the table.

"I'm straight," he says, but his voice sounds strangled, even to his own ears. "I _am_ ," he tries again, unconvincingly, going by his Mom's dubious look as she picks herself off the floor and returns to her chair. Liam barely notices, heart racing, and then out of nowhere, his mind conjures up an image of pretty green eyes flashing yellow and a low, grounding voice in an elevator, lying straight to his face, _'I won't die for you'_. "Oh my god," he whispers, as doubt floods his mind. His head whips up to meet his parents' eyes, looking between them wildly, "Oh my god, _am I_?"

And now _both_ his parents look appropriately sympathetic, but Liam's mind is still whirring, because _wow_ do a lot of things make sense now. _A lot_ , Liam thinks, feeling his face start to heat up. When he snaps himself out of his daze, his parents are eyeing him again, his Mom amused and his Dad looking at him in askance. Liam opens his mouth to explain, unsure what he's going to say even as he does it, because it's not like he can explain the realization that it _was_ in fact not that straight to have hate-fueled jerkoff sessions while thinking about his lacrosse rival (a habit he thankfully broke himself out of, after leaving Devenford), when his Mom, bless her heart, thankfully holds up a hand to halt whatever the fuck was going to come out of his mouth, and grants him a reprieve with an amused, "You know what, sweetie, I think that's alright, you've done _more_ than enough sharing today," and Liam's face is on _fire_. He desperately casts around for a new, safer topic, as the silence just seems to encourage the reframed scenes flitting through his brain, like this new and exciting revelation unlocked some repressed memories, Valack novel-style.

Thankfully, his Dad takes pity on him. "Are your friends alright?" he asks gently. "After everything last night, I mean. It sounds like things got pretty messy." _Messy is an understatement_ , Liam thinks, but it’s a well-meaning one, so he lets it go.

"Yeah," he replies, before the same thread of worry that bugged him last night makes itself known. Liam frowns. "I think so. I mean, Theo kind of disappeared last night. Even though I'm pretty sure he took a couple _really_ bad hits." Liam's parents don't need to know that _really bad hits_ actually means _poison-laced bullets,_ especially after today's conversation seemed to take five years off their life. Liam feels a hand on his shoulder, and looks up to find his Mom smiling at him, ominously, frustratingly _knowing_.

"Don't worry," she reassures, ruffling his hair affectionately. Liam scowls, mostly out of obligation, and bats her hand away. Her smile doesn't falter. "I'm sure he'll turn up soon." And Liam returns her smile, sipping his lukewarm cocoa, actually settling into the silence, and thanking whatever deity blessed him with his parents, who really _do_ seem to love him no matter what.

___

He gets his worries assuaged at the grocery store of all places, a couple days later. Liam's scanning his eyes down the crumpled list that his mom pushed into his hands before shoving him out the front door _("You can't avoid them forever, Liam. You don't have to forgive them, but if you want to finish your senior year here, you have to at least get used to seeing them_."), one hand trying (failing) to maneuver the cart, when he bumps into someone. He yanks his cart back, apology at the ready, but he feels it a split second before he sees it -- the buzz of static, the smell of pine -- and his head jerks up so fast he almost gives himself whiplash.

"Hey," Theo says, corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. His eyes scan down, and then back up Liam's body, but not like he's interested; more like he's still expecting to see the blood on it. Liam pretends not to be doing the same, eyes lingering on his left calf, where Liam _swears_ he saw Theo take more than a couple of bullets. But Theo really does seem to be walking normally, so Liam dismisses his worry, feeling much lighter, before his eyes zero in on the three lone packs of Red Bull in Theo's cart. He tries not to show the judgement he's feeling on his face, but he must not succeed because Theo laughs. Liam's eyes snap back to his face, watching his eyes crinkle. He looks good, considering the last time Liam saw him, he was covered in blood, sweat, and gunpowder residue. But then again, he always looks good. Liam has never wanted to punch him more.

So he does, _hard_.

A pained grunt escapes Theo as his fist collides and Theo gets knocked into the wall of bread behind him. Theo eyes the stacks of bread tumbling to the ground, and his arm goes automatically to the bruising shoulder, massaging it. He looks surprised for a brief instant, before scowling the sore skin like it somehow betrayed him. He furrows his brows and meets at Liam's eyes, bemusement clear on his face. " _What the hell_ ," he hisses, " _are you playing at?_ "

Liam's trying not to cry. "You _asshole_ ," he croaks, voice thick with emotion that he can't be bothered to hide. He punches him again, in the same shoulder, and Theo cries out, louder this time, frown deepening, but Liam isn't done. "I can't _fucking_ believe you."

Theo looks at Liam like he's lost his mind, but Liam feels like he's the only one with any sanity left. " _What_ are you --" Theo tries, only to be cut off by another swinging fist, but Theo catches it this time because Liam's sloppy and almost sagging with relief. They lock eyes for a brief moment before Theo slowly, pointedly, lets his hand go. Not even a full second goes by before Liam grabs him again.

"Oh my _god_ ," Theo says, indignant and exasperated all at once. His arms are coming up like he's planning to defend himself. "Well if you're just going to hit me again --"

And the rest of his protests are swiftly terminated by Liam _yanking_ him by the shoulders into his own chest, hand moving up to cradle the back of his head, pressing him close to his body as his other arm winds around his neck, and he breathes the smell of him in. Theo has gone completely still, completely silent, heart beating a mile a minute, (which Liam can _feel_ like its his _own_ because their fronts are practically plastered together) but Liam's really not in the mood for Theo's weird flavor of emotional repression right now, so he just holds on tighter and silently wills Theo to get with the program, because right now, Liam physically doesn't think he can let go. He apparently arrives at some kind of decision, hesitantly wrapping gentle arms around Liam's waist, and Liam has to hide a smile in the warmth of Theo's neck. He noses at the junction between his jaw and shoulder, scenting Theo lightly, before he realizes what he's doing and _very_ deliberately makes himself stop. Theo doesn't seem to notice, or he _definitely_ would've said something, or gone all horrible and stiff again, but he stays in Liam's arms, pliant and relaxed now, the way he almost never is.

"Are you okay?" Liam asks, because he needs to make sure. "You didn't even stay long enough to get hustled into medical like the rest of us."

"'Course," Theo scoffs, turning his head away from Liam, "I'm fine. Obviously." He uses the _duh_ tone like punctuation, like they're done, but Liam's wolf is _really_ not satisfied yet, so he just takes Theo's words for the reassurance that he thinks they're meant to be, and pulls him in tighter.

"What's this for," Theo murmurs, almost directly against his neck, and Liam tries valiantly to hide the shiver working its way down his spine, focusing on the words instead.

"You _left_ ," Liam chides quietly. "After we--" He stops. Tries again. "After everything." And then: "And _then_ I thought you _really_ left, like, just took your truck and booked it, because why would you--? After everything that happened here, there's nothing that's --" 

Theo pulls back a little to meet his eyes, frowning, and the only reason Liam allows it is because he stays within the circle of Liam's arms. Theo searches his face for a while, and Liam quiets, because even _he_ doesn't know how we was going to finish that thought, doesn't have the words describe the panic creeping up his throat when he realized that they might never see each other again. His eyes sting a little, and Theo seems to find something in his face, because his frown deepens. Liam wants to smooth out the line between his brows with his thumb, but his hands are comfortable where they're resting on Theo's hips.

"Hey," Theo says, and Liam's eyes snap back to his. "I wouldn't just go." Liam eyes him dubiously. "At least not," he concedes "without telling someone first," but Liam's still disbelieving. "C'mon, Liam," Theo says, laughing. "Leave? And miss out on all this fun?" He gestures with his free hand to the customers and salespeople eyeing them with trepidation (although why anyone would be worried that they're here to take revenge when Liam is _clearly_ distracted and not in possession of all his mental faculties is beyond him), and then to his and Liam's bodies, still fairly pressed against one another, and his smile morphs into a smirk. "I would never." And they lock eyes again, but this time, the eye contact is so _deliberate_ , and filled with so much intent, that Liam _burns_ , feeling the heat in his cheeks and under the collar, but he finds himself completely unable to move, to break the moment, until a customer clears her throat uncomfortably, and has to swerve her cart with an impressive level of creativity just to avoid hitting them and all the bread on the floor, and Liam coughs awkwardly, extracting his hands from their tight grip on Theo's slim hips, and breaking eye contact, keeping his eyes firmly the ground, because if that shit lasts any longer, he's in danger of doing something _very_ stupid. His conviction is laughable, however, eyes are dragged back up, as if by a magnet, and he watches with rapt fascination as a pretty pink flush spreads across Theo's cheekbones _(Oh_ , Liam thinks _. Oh_ no.) _._ Theo lets go of his shoulders, and he smiles, small but genuine, and says softly "It was really good to see you,", squeezing his shoulder once, before turning around and taking his cart by the handle. He glances back once, punctuates it with a whispered _"Dumbass_ ", but it's _fond_ and he's still smiling, before shaking his head and disappearing from the aisle. Liam waits to feel Theo leaving the store with his weird werewolf spider-sense, before he lets himself think, _Okay, so maybe I already did the stupid thing_ , slumping back into the aisle _\-- and maybe I know what that fucking spider-sense is after all_ \-- sliding down to the floor, head in his hands, until he can figure out how to function again.

He returns to himself about fifteen minutes later. His heartbeat's finally calm, and he can actually focus his eyes enough to read his Mom's (honestly offensive) handwriting, and he's surrounded by bread. He's too embarrassed to explain himself to an employee (even though he's pretty sure they already know), but he's already late and he doesn't have the time to stack it himself. He looks around wildly, to make sure no one's watching, before fixing it the only way he knows how.

The people in the store are looking at him differently after Theo left: sympathetically, knowingly. The cashier is clearly trying not to laugh as she rings up eighteen loaves of bread. "You're the one they warned us about," she says ominously, and Liam goes completely still, blood roaring in his ears. He _knew_ it wasn't over, it _couldn't_ have been that easy, because nothing in Beacon fucking Hills _ever_ \-- "In the math problems," she clarifies, and Liam's panicked internal monologue goes quiet as he struggles to process, and something she sees in his expression makes her lose her already tenuous grip on professionalism, as she doubles over, _cackling_. "Maybe next time," she says, in between peals of laughter, "you want to get, uh. _Violently intimate_ ," she gestures to the bread aisle, and then pointedly eyes the alarming amount of bread in his cart, and then snorts, helpless, and Liam feels like his face is on _fire_ , "don't pick the grocery store? I'd have to write you up." She finally stops laughing, but her eyes still are. "You," she says solemnly, handing Liam the receipt, "have made my day. Honestly." And then she starts laughing again, so Liam takes the receipt, and does his best to look like he's not fleeing as he exits the grocery store very quickly (but not so quickly so as to be mistaken for fleeing, because Liam is a werewolf, and fought in a war, and does not flee, thank you very much).He can still hear the people snickering inside, and he resigns himself to finding a new grocery store, one where people don't think Liam apparently ravished Theo Raeken up against the bread aisle.

 _Well,_ he thinks faintly, speedwalking through the parking lot, _at least it's not fear_ , and Liam takes it as a win, because he's generous with himself like that.


	2. they're hurtling their bodies down the freeway to the smell of gasoline, which is the sound of a voice saying I told you so. yes, you did dear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO excited for you guys to read this... man the self-restraint it took me to not IMMEDIATELY post it after I finished ....... phenomenal. Hope you enjoy!

The second time Liam notices something, it's months later; almost December.

It's the beginning of Thanksgiving Break, and Liam's looking forward to relaxing a bit, taking a break from college applications, and seeing some of the older pack members back from college. He's looking forward to watching football and gorging himself on his Dad's god-tier pie and trash-talking awful rom-coms with Theo and Melissa.

(The rom-coms were a tradition that they had started _way_ before he ever got involved, but he walked in on them once, laughing so violently he thought they were being _attacked_ , "The Christmas Prince" frozen on the TV screen, paused on that _ridiculous_ frame of the reporter lifting her ballgown up to reveal her _I'm Not Like Other Girls_ converse, and Liam couldn't help his curiosity. So, he settled in next to Theo on the McCall's couch, long line of heat at his side, sat through almost an hour of Theo and Melissa making sarcastic asides with _astoundingly_ similar brands of snark, and by the end, his abdomen was so sore from laughing that he thought he was going to puke. He's been attending their movie nights ever since.)

Liam's looking forward to inviting Theo to Thanksgiving (which he's been putting off until the right moment, because this is a careful situation and Theo's kind of a weirdo about family and Liam just _knows_ that if he doesn't play his cards _exactly_ right, it'll send him running for the hills, so he’s still practicing his delivery), and he's looking forward to forcing everyone to _relax_ for once because everyone who's not still in high school (and Stiles, who finished his fancy FBI program, and is starting at a new, slightly more confidential, and infinitely more intimidating one, very soon) has been working days and nights trying to pinpoint Monroe's movements. Theo has new dark circles under his eyes to accessorize the dark circles that were already there, Scott always looks like he's going to throw up, and even _Argent_ looks tired and drawn these days.

Liam's looking forward to all these things -- he's looking forward to a nice, stress free, week-long vacation.

But of course, because this is the real world, and not some blessed fantasy in which life doesn't suck balls, they spend the first day of Thanksgiving Break in a warehouse just outside of Sacramento, where they guessed Monroe was storing supplies. They were right about the supplies, but due to a slight miscalculation, the warehouse was _not_ as abandoned as they assumed it would be.

_I was supposed to taste test pies today_ , Liam thinks, vindictively smashing the nose of a spastic bald hunter who shot Malia-- and was gearing up to do it again -- with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. He tries not to take too much pleasure in the painful-sounding snap of the man's head back, and acutely fails. _Pies, plural_.

Liam can hear the usual cacophony of violence behind him; he can feel Scott's roar vibrating through the air, Malia's snarl, the whistling of Theo's claws through the air, Kira's sword clanging as it knocks weapons out of trigger-happy hands _(something to be said for bringing a sword to a gun-fight_ , Liam thinks half-hysterically, as he dodges the bolt of a crossbow) _,_ shouts punctuated by distinctive muted gunshots (although whether they're courtesy of Stiles or Argent, he can't tell). The sound, in a manner that would be fascinating to the therapist that he's going to need by the end of high school at this rate, comforts him. His pack at his back, fighting for the greater good.

Liam yanks the gun that the bald hunter starts reaching for out of his hand and parries the butt of it into his temple. The man crumples, and Liam breathes in relief for a second, before turning to survey the situation behind him. He almost wishes he hadn't.

In the pack's attempts to cutoff Monroe's supplies, they'd learned one crucial preference: hunters, as a direct consequence of lacking the supernatural capabilities of the individuals they hunted, find in strength in numbers. _Even in a goddamn storage warehouse_ , Liam thinks disbelievingly, stomach turning at the sheer amount of bodies strewn across the floor. They're all still alive, just injured. But there's still half of them to go. It’s times like these he misses Lydia and the convenience of her long-range death screams, but unfortunately, her flight doesn’t get in for another couple of days.

And so, Liam throws himself back into the fray, letting the shift take him, slashing, clawing, snarling at anyone with poor enough self-preservation to try taking down the werewolf with anger issues, mowing down hunters left and right. They're too low-level to know how to defend themselves -- mostly lookouts and hired muscle -- and Liam uses it to his advantage, adrenaline surging through his veins as he temporarily loses track of time, stuck in a violent haze. His only moment of lucidity, is when he heard Theo's surprised gasp.

In hindsight, it's surprising that Liam hears it at all, considering how quiet it is in comparison to the battle raging around them. But it cuts through Liam's tirade of takedowns, as his eyes snap to Theo, somehow easily finding him despite the melee. But he looks for just long enough to see what must've caused the gasp, and Liam's blood runs cold. In the middle of Theo's stomach, so far inside that only the hilt is still visible, is a hunter knife, deeply embedded.

Liam _screams_ something that might be Theo's name, but nobody seems to hear him over the fighting, and then Liam hears a loud, desperate roar, before realizing that _that's_ his own too. He's already racing forward, supernatural speed being put to full use, a third of the way to Theo, when something hits him _hard_ in the back of the head, and now it's his turn to crumple. Dark spots swim before his eyes, but Liam mostly ignores them as he tries to get back on his feet to deal with the hunter who clipped him ( _who_ , Liam notes somewhere in the back of his mind, behind the part that's been desperately screaming since he saw that knife in Theo's stomach, _ironically, is also bald_ ). It doesn't take much to deal with him; a vicious swipe of unsheathed claws to the chest, an elbow to the nose, and he's out like a light. Frantically, Liam turns back to the section of the room he last saw Theo in, fervently hoping he's not too late, before he spots him, stomach knife-free, fighting like he's absolutely fine.

_False alarm_ , Liam thinks, cautiously hopeful, his thoughts slow like taffy, as the numbness starts to fade a bit, and the relief begins to trickle in. Theo's head whips around, like he could feel Liam watching, his face baring some expression too complicated to dissect in the middle of a gunfight, and they lock eyes for a long moment, before Liam has spin around and block another vicious blow to the head, and slips back into the haze that comes with the shift. He lets his eyes flash, and feels the wave of power that rolls through his body, his vision going tunneled and teeth getting sharper.

Like this, it’s much harder to think with his rational, human brain. With the wolf on the surface instead of buried inside, especially just a couple days from the full moon, all thoughts seem to filter through his animalistic consciousness before they enter his own. Which is Liam’s only sensible explanation for why he’s still shifted, snarling and clawing at air, long after the remaining hunters apparently decided to cut their losses, piling into the few SUVs that miraculously _don't_ have bullet holes in the tires. He's brought out of his haze by someone shoving him up against the wall, and he snarls again, fangs unsheathed, but settles a bit at the familiar scent.

"What the _hell_ is _wrong_ with you?"

Liam opens his eyes to find Theo, an appealing combination of concerned and disheveled, frowning at him. Liam grits his teeth. "Happens sometimes," he hisses, through the mouthful of fangs he's trying to force back into his gums, "close to the full moon." Theo's expression goes slack in understanding. He nods, slings an arm around Liam, cupping the back of his neck, and Liam wonders, half-hysterically, if this is Theo trying to help him get his heart rate back down, because if so, he's doing terribly. But the firm hand on the nape of his neck is grounding, and Theo flashes his own eyes, sympathetic, and when he whispers " _What three things cannot long be hidden,_ ", Liam is helpless to do anything but respond obediently while he tries to remember how to breathe. His fangs and claws are sheathed within seconds, and when Liam returns to himself and finally tunes into the world outside of the bubble him and Theo had manufactured for themselves, he can hear the angry screech of tires on uneven pavement in the distance, and Argent's disgruntled long-range shooting at car tires. He scans the room, making a brief, perfunctory assessment of the injuries, and breathes a quiet sigh of relief when he sees nothing bad enough to warrant concern.

Argent makes the necessary phone calls, and offers to stay for the cleanup, dismissing the rest of them to go home and get treated for their injuries, quelling Scott's immediate protest with a _very_ intimidating Look. They begin their trek to the tires, feet dragging across the ground with exhaustion. Liam ends up in the front, unconsciously having fallen in step with Theo, everyone else trailing behind them. _Unconsciously_ , Liam's mind scoffs, insultingly mocking, _yeah right_ , before Liam _consciously_ tells it to shut the _fuck_ up. Theo's quiet next to him on the walk, which is fine because Liam is in the middle of a vicious internal argument with himself about being honest about what he wants (the _irony_ ), right up until he smells it. _Blood_. Fresh, not dried.

"You're _hurt_ ," he blurts, head whipping to Theo, who looks a little hunted at the accusation. He crosses his arms, defensive, raising his chin in _defiance_ , the dumbass. Liam frowns.

"I'm fine," he scoffs, dismissive, deliberately avoiding Liam's eyes like that's a strategy that's actually going to work. Liam is _not_ fucking having it.

"You're clearly _not_ ," Liam says, more panicked than he would like, eyes scanning Theo's body frantically, searching for the source of the blood. "I can literally _smell_ it. That knife _did_ get you, didn't it? _I knew it_."

"I _said_ I'm fine," Theo says, through teeth that are clearly clenched. Liam can hear his molars grinding, and tries not to wince. But more importantly, he can _still smell the blood_.

" _Oh my god_ ," Liam snaps, finally losing his (honestly admirable amount of) patience, "just let me _see,_ ", and he halts their walking so that he can start scrabbling at Theo's crossed arms, trying to pull them apart and assess the damage underneath. Theo's eyes flare the second Liam's hands make contact with his body.

" _What the fuck is wrong with you?_ " Theo hisses, hackles raised, as he shoves Liam off him _hard,_ before winding his arms even tighter around himself than before. "I said I'm fine and I _am_." A beat of silence. And then, quieter, sneering: "Fuck _off_ , Dunbar, don't pretend to care on my account."

" _Newsflash asshole,_ I _do_ actually care," Liam can't help but retort, and now his hackles are up too, and he hisses back, " _some of us actually have a fucking heart_ ,", because he means ' _I'm not like all those people who never gave a shit about you'_ and ' _let me take care of you, dumbass'_ and ' _I'm sorry you had to suffer so much for so long, but I'm here now'_ and ' _yeah, my heart's basically yours, so what?'_.

It takes him a whole moment of absolute silence, the pack gone completely quiet behind them, and Theo gone deathly still, arms finally uncrossed, face utterly blank, for Liam to replay the words in his head, and understand what it _actually_ sounded like. No one moves a muscle, except for Theo, whose blank expression spasms.

" _Oh_ ," Theo says, very quietly, and his hand comes up to his sternum, almost unconsciously, as he presses _hard_ , and Liam's heart _breaks_ , stomach flooding _immediately_ and _painfully_ with guilt.

"No, hey--" he tries weakly, throat closing up, but Theo doesn't even appear to hear him, starting to walk forward again, eyes blank like he's in a daze.

" _Right_ ," Liam hears him whisper, and then louder, to him and the rest of the pack: "Right, I, uh. I have to go." And Liam didn't even _notice_ that they had made it to the cars already, but he sure as hell is aware of them _now_ , now that Theo's advancing quickly on his blue truck, deliberately avoiding his eyes, and Liam's groping around desperately for the right words to _fix_ this, somehow, his heart in his throat.

"Theo, _wait_ ," he croaks, panicked, "Theo, that’s not what I --"

"See you around, Dunbar," Theo says, quiet enough that Liam's the only one to hear him, voice devoid of all emotion, eyes fixed firmly on the windshield, swiftly cutting off any further attempts by pulling the car door shut, and immediately _flooring it_ out of the parking lot, merging onto the highway in a maneuver that causes a cacophony of honks that only faintly register in Liam's ringing ears. He can still smell Theo's blood. He barely has the presence of mind to notice the rest of the pack around him, caught up and are eyeing him with varying levels of disbelief.

It's Malia who decides to break the silence. "So your wooing strategy," she says, blunt as always, narrowing her eyes at him, "was to tell him he _doesn't have a heart_?"

"Solid plan, buddy," Stiles comes up to him, smacking him on the back. Liam thinks he might _cry_. "I mean it's a little far, but at Quantico, the Behavioral Analysis Unit taught about the effectiveness of negging, so _hey_ , whatever --"

" _Stiles_ ," Scott chastises, tone brokering no room for argument. He shoots a similarly admonishing look at Malia, that Liam only sees because he's still staring into the distance. She puts up both arms in mock surrender, making a face.

"I wasn't trying to --" Liam tries, the words sticking in his throat as he tries to get them out. He takes a deep breath, and opens his mouth again, manages a desperate "I didn’t mean --" before being cut off by a warm, broad palm on his shoulder. It grounds him, Scott's presence.

"I know you didn't," Scott replies, gentle, squeezing his shoulder sympathetically. Liam's eyes sting.

"I have to go after him," Liam tries to insist, meeting Scott's eyes, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "To explain."

"And you _will_ ," Scott says, tone warm and reassuring like it always is, and Liam feels it like a balm on his tightly-wound heart. "But maybe give him a little time first?" And Liam nods numbly, deferring to Scott's judgement, because he's seen what happens when Liam tries to make decisions.

"But Scott," he tries, breaking out of his numbness a bit, unable to let it go. "Scott, I smelled _blood_ on him. Fresh blood."

Scott shuts his eyes, brow furrowed in concentration, and Liam stays still, unwilling to break whatever Alpha voodoo Scott's trying to attempt. After a couple minutes, Scott opens his eyes again, looking lighter.

"It doesn't seem like he's in any pain," he says, and Liam feels a weight lift.

"Are you sure?" Liam asks, unable to keep the doubt out of his voice, because it's not like he doesn't believe him, but it feels like this whole _True Alpha_ thing comes with weird new level-ups every day, and he's never once seen Scott do _that_ before. "Can you feel all of us? In your head? All the time?"

Scott smiles a bit, nodding. "Pack bonds," he explains, tapping his temple with an index finger as Liam stills. His smile grows. "I can feel the whole pack up here. All of you."

\---

(Liam shows up at the diner towards the end of Theo's evening shift. It's not an ambush, but it can't really be called anything else. Liam is _way_ past giving a damn, but just to be polite, he orders a slice of pie anyways, like he always does, before settling into his usual spot in the middle of the counter.

"Hey, stranger," Theo says, grinning as he places a steaming slice of apple pie down in front of Liam and slinging a towel over one broad, uniformed shoulder. Liam's mouth waters and he tells himself its because of the pie.

"Hi," Liam replies, embarrassingly helpless to return the smile, before he gains back his wits. "So," Liam says, in a tone that he hopes comes off as nonchalant, "have any plans tonight?" He winces inwardly at how much it sounded like a pickup line, but Theo doesn't even seem to notice, returning Liam's perfectly reasonable inquiry with an honestly, _offensively_ suspicious look.

"No," Theo replies slowly, eyes narrowed and considering as he leans against the counter. "It's my turn to close up, but that's it. Why?"

Liam clears his throat once, twice, to get the sticky-warm apple out of it. "Pack meeting tonight," he manages, overly casual, and _that_ gets a reaction out of Theo. Not an overt one, because he's _him_ , but his puzzling expression is quickly replaced by that _awful,_ blank, neutral one he gets sometimes. _Don't hide_ , Liam thinks, a bit desperately, _not from me_.

Finally, he seems to sort out whatever's happening in his head, and the blank expression slips right off, as easy as he slipped it on in the first place. " _Liam,_ " Theo groans, dropping his head to the counter. Liam manfully ignores the noise for the sake of remaining publicly decent. He's also wishing he chose to sit _anywhere_ other than the counter, which is currently, much too exposed for Liam. He's interrupted from his wistful gazing toward the booths by Theo's long, drawn out sigh. "You've _got_ to stop inviting me to those," he says, whiny, but there's something complicated going on in his eyes, and in the barely distinguishable tremor in his voice. "It's awkward."

" _First of all_ ," Liam starts, indignant, " _Scott_ is the one inviting you," because it's _true; Scott_ was the one who said _hey, can someone go get Theo, I want his take on this_ , and Liam might've been the first to volunteer (for reasons he didn't want to examine too closely, and neither did Scott, going by the constipated look he gave him when Liam's hand shot up), because he _knows_ Theo, and Theo is weirdly flaky about pack meetings, and without this ambush, he might try to do something ridiculous like give Scott the information over the phone and then persistently avoid them for the next week. Theo lifts his head up at that, peering at him curiously.

"Yeah?" Theo asks, frowning, staring determinedly down at the counter as he pulls the towel off his shoulder and begins methodically wiping it down. "What does _he_ want?"

"He was going over Monroe's strategy again, said you had a specialty in. . ." Liam frowns, casting his mind back for exactly _what_ Scott said he wanted Theo's help with, ". . . Byzantine battle tactics?"

"Napoleonic," Theo corrects absently, still focused on a particularly stubborn coffee stain on the counter, and Liam's dumb little history-buff heart tries not to find it _mind-numbingly hot_ and fails miserably. He feels himself twitch painfully in his pants and shifts uncomfortably, longing for the cover of the booth once more, and he prays that he doesn't know anyone here, because the situation downstairs is becoming increasingly difficult to hide.

"Right," he says, voice coming out embarrassingly hoarse, clearing his throat a couple times after Theo gives him a strange look. God, his chemosignals must be a _mess_. Liam shakes his head once, twice, trying to clear it. It's only semi-successful, but he soldiers on valiantly. "And what do you mean, _awkward_? It's not awkward! Why would it be awkward?" Theo gives him a _Look_ that very clearly says, _you're the dumbest person I've met, maybe ever_ and Liam sets his jaw, unrepentant. "It’s _not_ ," he insists, "don't pretend like they aren't your _friends_ ," and then when Theo opens his mouth, seemingly to protest, Liam already knows what he's about to say, and he's just, _so_ , incredibly _over it_ today, that he puts his hand right on Theo's mouth, quelling any further bullshit. "You drive me, Corey, Mason, and Nolan around _constantly_ , even though you don't have to. You taught Alec how to control the shift; _really_ control it. You spar with Malia when she needs to burn off some anger and you let Lydia drag you to the mall and dress you up like her personal Barbie doll when she's home on the weekends _just_ because she told you _once_ that it helps her clear her mind," Liam says, determined now, and on a roll. Theo's mouth is warm and soft under Liam's hand, but he doesn't let his thoughts stray in that direction because _here be dragons_ and all that. "You're the only one who has the patience to play Go with Kira, and the only one who understands what the fresh hell intelligence-agency bullshit comes out of Stiles's mouth these days, and Scott and Melissa get antsy when you stay away for too long." The _'and so do I'_ goes unsaid, but Theo looks absolutely dumbstruck and his scent is doing something complicated, so Liam just relishes the triumph. "Stop avoiding us, dumbass," Liam says, shoving him gently in the shoulder and trying not to smile. "We _like_ you. We're your friends. Your _pack_." And at that, Theo's expression drops. He pulls Liam's hand away from his mouth gently, and Liam suppresses a shudder at the electric brush of soft lips across his palm. Theo's still holding his hand, and Liam's head is filled with a pleasant kind of white noise, until he starts talking again.

" _Liam_ ," Theo says, sounding pained, pleading almost. "Why is this so _hard_ for you to understand?” He lets go of Liam’s hand, and scrubs a hand across his jaw. Liam feels the loss of warmth immediately, and a small, embarrassing noise escapes his mouth, but Theo doesn’t even notice. ”I'm not _pack_. I'll never _be_ pack." He says the word through clenched teeth, and articulates it like it's in another language, fitting his mouth around the consonants like the word is as foreign to him as the concept it represents. "After everything I’ve done. . ." he says, trailing off into a sardonic little laugh that Liam, frankly, doesn't find funny at all.

Liam sets his jaw, suddenly blindingly angry; so angry he can feel the shift lurking right underneath his skin, itching to burst out. "People change all the time, it's called _growth_ " Liam says, sounding furious, _completely_ beyond caring if his eyes are flashing right now, right in the middle of the diner. "People _make mistakes_ , and then they _redeem_ \--"

"Liam," Theo interrupts, voice hoarse, a gentle kind of sad, one that cuts through Liam's anger, making him deflate, and makes Liam _ache_ to hold his hand again. "People like _me_ , people who do the things that _I did_ ," he starts, before gripping Liam's forearms, grounding, and staring _right_ into his eyes. Liam is drowning in hazel green, throat gone completely dry. He tries to swallow, and hears his throat click. Theo's looking at him like he can _see him_ , down to his very core. "It's important to me that you understand this," Theo says, gaze an intense an unrelenting pressure on Liam's bruised heart. Liam nods, helpless, tongue feeling too big for his mouth. "People like me," Theo tries again, "don't get a happy ending. We don't get _redemption arcs_." He smiles, sad, the saddest smile Liam's ever seen, and it makes something deep inside him _clench_. "The best we can ask for, is a second chance," he continues solemnly, "a chance to do better, to try to help instead of hurt, and to hope that someday, the good that we try to put out in the world outweighs all the bad that _we were directly responsible for_ " Theo's hands briefly tighten their grip on Liam before he lets go, eyes suspiciously shiny, and Liam's own eyes sting sympathetically. Theo's face softens, eyes crinkling slightly. " _You_ gave me that second chance," he says softly, flicking Liam on the nose and laughing, uninhibited, when his nose scrunches up in response. Liam's heart skips a beat at the sound. Theo gets serious again, eyes boring into Liam's, their hands so close together on the newly clean counter that their pinkies are almost brushing, and Liam can _feel_ its presence like an electric current. He thinks, fleetingly, urgently, _what if I just_ , but Theo's not done. " _You_ gave me a second chance when you pulled me out of the ground, when you trusted me, when you _fought_ with me. _You_ did." His voice is almost a whisper, and Liam's just thankful he didn't say something horrible like _thank you_ or worse _: I owe you_ , but he's completely at a loss, stunned speechless, because he doesn't have the words to tell Theo just how _wrong_ he is. He used up all his words trying to explain how much Theo _belonged_ with them, and now he has nothing to say at all, but he thinks, with conviction, _I'll find the words_. He thinks, _I'll find the words to make you understand_. He thinks _, how can someone be so beautiful and so wrong at the same time_ , and he thinks, determinedly, _you deserve to be happy_.

He thinks, _I'll make you happy if it's the last fucking thing I do_.

The moment is broken, by a violent clattering of pans from the kitchen. Theo turns to the source of the sound, smiling wryly, and then turns back to Liam, seemingly arriving at a decision. He gestures with his head toward the parking lot. "C'mon," he says, mouth twitching in a suppressed smile, "I'll get someone else to close. Give you a ride to Scott’s." Liam nods, still subdued, and makes to get up from his stool, when Theo tosses his head back, yelling, " _Legs, I've got to go, can you lock up instead?"_ and Liam barely has the presence of mind to wonder, _Legs?_ , before he hears another, even _more_ violent clattering of pans, followed by a distinctly _feminine_ voice screaming back from the kitchen, _"Raeken, you flaky dipshit_ ”, and then an even _louder_ clattering followed by a sigh, and a grudging, _”go have fun"_ and Theo _smiles_ , shaking his head, and the sharp spike of something that Liam tells himself fervently is _absolutely not jealousy, that would be completely ridiculous_ , is more than enough to rid them of the vestiges of their weird moment, as Theo grabs his keys and Liam follows behind them.

Their conversation is still there, lurking in his conscience, but it's been swiftly shoved to the back of his mind, with the forefront almost completely occupied by a panicked discourse of, _is 'Legs' a platonic nickname or a sexy one,_ as Theo speeds the whole way to Scott's house.

Scott opens the door with a smile, and Theo returns it, while Liam works to hide his own. As he settles in to his usual spot on the couch, watching Theo draw circles on a large map with a red Sharpie, the pack listening with rapt attention, he can't help but notice _how settled_ Theo looks in his own skin here, and in that moment, Liam realizes _, Theo can't see what's right in front of him, can't let himself believe it, he doesn't understand._ Liam realizes that even though none of them have directly come out and _said it_ , it's impossible for him to be anything _but_ pack _._ Liam realizes _, I'll just have to_ make him _understand_.)

___

And _that, "the whole pack, all of you_ " gets rid of the last of the numbness, warmth replacing it instead. Because Theo _is_ pack, officially and irrevocably and unmistakably, just like Liam always insisted he was, even when Theo constantly and consistently denied it, and _pack_ is _pack_ , and that means Liam has a chance to fix this. Liam’s mind flashes back to that evening in the diner, Theo sad and beautiful and impossible, whispering things like, _people like me don’t get happy endings_ , and staring right into his soul, and Liam's stupid little heart is almost _incandescently_ happy to prove him wrong.

It takes almost another full hour to load everything up into the cars, clean up and bandage wounds, and work out who's going with who, as Scott decides last minute to completely ignore Argent's orders, and have some people stay back anyways to help out. Liam spends the hour building up his resolve. _I'll find him_ , he thinks, _I'll find him, and I'll explain, and everything will be fine._ Liam gets in the back of Stiles's Jeep, settling in as they pull onto the road, mind still echoing _everything will be fine_ , as he slips into an exhaustion nap. They reach Beacon Hills two hours later, and Liam, getting out of the Jeep on wobbly legs, thinks, _I'll find him, but first I'll give him some space_.

It's not until later that they find out that Theo went straight to the bridge in the woods where Tara died, after arriving in Beacon Hills. It's not until later that they discover that Monroe had issued orders; orders to watch Beacon Hills, watch the comings and goings of the McCall pack alpha. Monroe's hunters, as a rule, or perhaps as a _tradition_ , tend to favor communication via messages transmitted in complicated ciphers over a secret radio frequency. They're mind-numbingly long, (something Mason had complained about loudly and often when it was his responsibility to transcribe some of the messages), for the sake of thorough descriptions to make up for a lack of pictures and visuals. It's not until later, that they discover Monroe had issued a command to grab "Liam Dunbar, the McCall beta with yellow eyes, recently spotted most frequently in a beat-up, blue truck, see: attached license plate number".

And so, when a yellow-eyed beta in a blue truck is spotted in a secluded section of the woods, completely isolated from his pack, who they confirmed to be hundreds of miles away, it's Christmas-come-early for three smug, armed-to-the-teeth, hunters. Theo has lived with the Doctors for nine years, and has spent eight of them as a spy. The hunters wouldn't've stood a chance, had he not been completely off his guard, vision blurred, ears pounding with the blood rushing to his head. By the time he smells them, the bullets are already in his stomach.

It takes the McCall pack two hours to reach Beacon Hills. They arrive less than fifteen minutes after Theo Raeken had been dragged, kicking and screaming, through the woods, before being thrown into a black SUV. The wolfsbane in the bullets knocks him out, and he doesn’t wake until hours later, but by then, it’s much too late to try and fight back.

Somewhere in Beacon Hills, the _real_ Liam Dunbar is lying on top of his covers, wide awake, still in the clothes he fought in, anxiety mounting for no discernible reason. _But first I’ll give him some space_ , repeats Liam internally, this time with _conviction_. And so he ignores the unexplainable pit growing in his stomach, shuts his eyes, and forces himself to fall into something resembling sleep.

Theo wakes up to total and complete darkness, stale air, and the cool, unmistakable feeling of metal at his back. His veins turn to ice, and he thinks _please, I'll do anything_. Theo wakes up to the sense memory of a hell he stupidly thought he had escaped from when he climbed out of the ground, and he thinks _please, please, please, not again,_ before promptly passing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're so stupid i love them so much  
> so that diner scene was completely an accident, unplanned, written by me at 4 in the morning, days after I finished writing the rest of the chapter. Whoops lol  
> Also, I KNOW that I write them way too soft and I'm SORRY okay haha, I always read works where they're really snarky but secretly in love and I absolutely LOVE that characterization and I KNOW that part of theo's appeal is that he's a morally ambigious asshole but every time I go to write... they come out like...... this..... Tendere :,)  
> also kira is still here because the tw writers did her so dirty with that skinwalker goodbye, and she deserves better
> 
> Tell me what you like, what you didn't! All feedback is welcome! My tumblr is [inabottlelikelightning](https://www.inabottlelikelightning.tumblr.com) if you want to come and yell at me :)


	3. if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is a day late because I had a busy week, but to make up for it, here is a LONG ass chapter. I think it's like 11k or something, haha whoops. I get carried away while writing dialogue. Also, I just want to THANK all of you who have taken the time to reach out and leave some kind words and/or a kudos, because I NEVER could've imagined that real people would actually like this, and you guys warm my heart so much :)) love y'all!!

The _third_ time Liam notices something is, easily, the absolute worst. Not even the worst out of his moments of realization, but the worst week of his _life_. And he nearly got murdered all those times before.

It starts like this: Liam thinks _But first, I'll give him some space_ ; a promise to himself, which is broken, swiftly and efficiently, after three days of uncontrollably mounting anxiety. He hasn't seen Theo since the warehouse, and Theo missed his scheduled strategy meeting with Scott, Stiles, and Argent the other day, and he might be avoiding Liam, but he wouldn't skip out on a meeting that important without any notice, just because he was upset (especially when he _knows_ that time is of the essence, and he _definitely_ knows it was Stiles's last day before he had to head back to D.C.), so Liam can't help it; he _worries_.

 _You're supposed to call back after three days_ , Liam justifies, staring at his phone and trying to build up the courage to hit the _call_ button, laughing to himself, _at_ himself, that he's been relegated to using hook-up rules just to try to talk to his. . . Friend. _Friend_ , his mind scoffs, disbelieving, but Liam's long past telling it to shut up, and now mostly just puts up with the mocking, because it's good practice for when everyone else finds out _just_ how _gone_ Liam really is for an emotionally repressed moron with green eyes, a blue truck, and a ledger soaked in red.

Liam stares at the phone screen for almost an entire fifteen minutes. (Not to look for Theo's contact information. Of course not; Theo was number four on his speed dial, and had been almost since they hit a ghost rider with a car. Mason gave him a _very_ strange look the first time he found out -- unwarranted, in Liam's opinion. It's not a big deal. It's _not_.)

Theo's name stares back from the screen, almost mockingly. The screen is almost _offensively_ bright at this time of dawn, and he has to squint just to look at it. It takes him another five minutes to place the call, and he tries not to be too disappointed when it goes straight to voicemail. Never one to give up easy, Liam calls back again. And again. It's on the eighteenth attempt, that he finally decides to change tacks. Absently, he wonders if Theo blocked his number, while he dials _three_ on his speed dial for Mason and waits for him to pick up, pacing the length of his room.

He does, after exactly two rings, just like Liam knew he would, because Mason is nothing if not consistent. Liam doesn't even give him a chance to ask what's up, before diving straight in: "I need to find Theo," he tries, voice pleading, "I said I would give him space, and I _did._ It’s been _three days._ " Liam can _hear_ Mason's eyebrow-raise. _"_ And I don't think he's taking my calls," he finishes, deflating. He hears a drawn out sigh from the other end of the line, which Liam privately thinks is a little unfair, but he ignores it, because he's a good friend like that.

“ _Liam,_ ” Mason groans. “ _Can this not wait until a more reasonable hour?”_

 _“Mason_ ,” Liam whines, because he knows how much Mason _hates_ it, before unleashing a _very_ convincing tirade of _please please please please please_ that Mason cuts off with a muffled _“oh my god, fuck you”_ and Liam tries not to be too smug about his victory (and fails horribly), waiting patiently through the rustling noises at the other end of the line, as Mason seemingly sits himself up.

" _Why don't you just go to his place?_ " Mason tries, exasperated, voice more awake now, but still sleep-raspy. Liam feels a little bad, but the anxiety he's been feeling for the last couple days swiftly overpowers it. Mason yawns. " _Stage an ambush or something."_

"Right," Liam replies, nervously picking at the skin around his fingernails. There's a couple moments of silence, as Liam tries to figure out exactly how to address _that_ particular suggestion, and the glaring hole in that plan. "Right, so, uh, about that."

" _Liam,_ " Mason snaps, somehow even _more_ exasperated than before. " _Man, it's like six in the morning, just spit it out._ "

"So," Liam continues, "so", he repeats, still trying to find the words, but he can _sense_ Mason's rising agitation, even through the judgmental silence on the line, and so he spits it out, all at once, words coming out in a vaguely coherent rush: "So I kind of. . . Don't exactly, uh. Know where he lives?" There's a beat of silence. Then another.

" _You. . ."_ Mason starts, sounding a little stunned, a lot disbelieving. Privately, Liam's a little impressed with himself, because he remembers Mason staunchly proclaiming that absolutely _nothing_ could shock him anymore, after his time in the supernatural world. But mostly, Liam's embarrassed. Mason seems to recover from his bout of speechlessness admirably. " _What the fuck?"_ he says, sounding absolutely incredulous, and Liam winces. " _Liam, what the_ fuck. _You guys hang out, like, all the time."_

"Yeah, I _know_ that, but," Liam hisses, getting defensive now, " _But_ , we always hang out at my place, or in his truck, or at the preserve, or the diner, or -- _whatever_. It hasn't really come up."

" _It hasn't come up_ ," Mason echoes faintly. And then, incredulous again, " _It_ hasn't come up?"

" _Oh my god,_ " Liam snaps, embarrassment manifesting into anger now, the way it always does, but Mason doesn't deserve it, so Liam takes a deep breath before he tries again. "It hasn't come up," he repeats, "He's never invited me to his place, and, like, you know Theo, he's a pretty private person, so." Another beat of silence. It's unnerving. Liam tries to find the words to fill it, because he's weak, and silence makes him nervous. "I was just _respecting his boundaries_ ," he tries, cringing as soon as the words leave his mouth.

" _Respecting his boundaries_ ," Mason echoes again, voice rising in volume. Liam hears a smothered laugh from the other end of the line, and then non-smothered one, half-hysterical. Liam frowns. He's been worried about Mason's mental health ever since he found out about the supernatural -- for an entire week, all it seemed he could say was " _Intense_ " -- but it's starting to seem like this Theo conundrum has finally broken him. "Yeah," Mason says, sarcasm clear in his tone, even in between the peals of alarming laughter that keep escaping, "because when I think of people who are good at _'respecting each others boundaries'_ I _definitely_ think of you and Theo." And then he laughs some more.

Maybe he needs more sleep, Liam thinks guiltily, starting to regret this call a bit, when a loud groan from the other end of the line interrupts his thoughts. Liam hears a dull _thunk_ like Mason just dropped his head onto something hard. " _Liam,"_ Mason says, muffled. " _Liam, I love you. But you're an idiot."_ And Liam frowns, an indignant, " _Hey--_ " already bursting out, but Mason ignores him completely, continuing, " _If there's literally_ one person _on the face of the Earth that Theo would invite to his sketchy mystery home, it would be you._ " Liam blinks.

"I. . . Don't follow," Liam says, the bemusement he's feeling clear in his voice. He hears another, louder groan.

" _I hate you,_ " Mason says, still muffled, and Liam smiles a bit, finally letting himself get his hopes up. " _I hate you, like, so much._ "

"I know," Liam reassures, trying to keep the grin out of his voice, as he starts sliding socks onto his feet, one-handed. "I know, buddy."

" _Like,_ so _much. You're the worst."_ Mason says, but his voice is distant, but Liam hears movement in the background, and he _beams_. " _The worst person I've met, maybe, like, ever. And I met Jackson Whittemore that one time."_

"Probably," Liam agrees, laughing. "I'll see you in twenty?”

“See you in twenty,” Mason agrees sportingly, because he’s the best. And then he grumbles “You owe me a venti, Dunbar. A fucking _venti_. None of that grande bullshit.” before hanging up, and Liam can’t help but chuckle, shoving his feet into sneakers and taking his Mom’s car keys off the hook by the door, closing the front door with a quiet _click_ behind him. It's as he's fastening his seatbelt that Liam sees the message Mason sent in the puppy pack group chat.

 _emergency pp meeting at the usual place, 20 min_ , it says _, because liam's a dumbass_

Liam maturely resists the urge to groan and thump his head into the steering wheel, but it's a close thing.

Liam's phone vibrates twice, and he reads the replies, first, from Nolan -- _It costs you $0 to not abbreviate puppy pack like that_ \-- and then from Corey: _wts in it fr us_ , because Corey's kind of a dick under that wholesome exterior. Mason sends back, _he's buying us breakfast :)_ , and this time, Liam lets himself face plant into the steering wheel, because he deserves it. It's another vibration that makes him pull his head back up, also from Mason: _also theo if you read this pls call liam back he's a lil stupid but I promise he means well_ , and Liam scowls, puts his phone back in his pocket, and pulls out of the driveway.

He doesn't stop until he gets to Starbucks, where, instead of ordering verbally, he just shows the cashier the group chat, because some (read: _one_ ) of those orders are _way_ too fucking messy for Liam to try reciting, and the _last_ time Liam got _two_ pumps of toffee nut syrup instead of _three_ , Mason wouldn’t speak to him for a whole day. The cashier looks like Liam just placed him in front of a firing squad, and Liam winces sympathetically, placing an extra twenty in the tip jar. Fifteen minutes later, Liam walks out with two coffees, a muffin, and a gargantuan club sandwich. He carefully places the food in the passenger seat, before pulling out again, and heading to the usual place.

 _The usual place_ was a small clearing in the preserve, close enough to the refurbished Hale house to be Hale property, but far enough from the main road to grant some semblance of privacy. No one could see them from this section of the woods, and anyone trying to eavesdrop would have to contend with Derek's angry eyebrows and a growly, _this is private property,_ since he’s taken to staying there instead of the loft, ever since he came back to help with the hunters. Liam and Mason discovered it mostly by accident, back when they were running around the woods, half-hysterical about ghost riders.

Liam parks his car deep enough in the preserve that it's not easily visible from the outside, grabs the food and drinks from the passenger seat, and shuts the door with his foot. He hears the car lock automatically with a _beep_ behind him, and he starts up a light jog toward the usual place. It takes him barely any time to reach the clearing, where everyone else has seemingly been waiting. Mason and Corey look half dead, standing, but leaning on each other for support. Nolan's sitting on a rock, drowning in an enormous sweatshirt, arms wrapped around himself, wearing shorts that are _definitely_ far too short for public decency, and for late November. Liam's almost blinded by the flash of early sunlight reflecting off his pasty thighs. Alec's still in pajamas too, lying flat on the floor, face down in the dirt.

When Liam enters the clearing, Alec perks up a little at the smell of food, Nolan startles a bit and falls off his rock, and Mason's eyes snap to him, before he breaks away from Corey. Corey doesn't stop leaning, but doesn't tip over either. Liam's a little impressed, and privately thinks it might be a chimera thing, because Theo has a kind of gravity-defying grace too. Liam's broken from his reverie by frantic rustling, as Mason advances on him with an almost supernatural speed, eyeing the Frappuccino nestled in the drink carrier in Liam's hands with unholy glee, smile manic. Concerned and a bit terrified, Liam pushes the entire drink carrier into Mason's greedy hands before he can lose a finger, and then hands Nolan his muffin and tosses Alec the sandwich. Alec makes a happy noise, unwraps it, and immediately stuffs a third of it down his throat. Corey wraps his hands around his mocha (apparently just to feel the warmth of it, because he doesn't move to take a sip) and looks on with morbid curiosity.

"Are you going to eat that entire thing for breakfast?" Corey implores, judgement palpable in his tone. Alec makes a face at him.

" _Leave me alone,_ " he says, " _Still getting used to the metabolism,_ " except Alec hasn't paused his eating, and so it comes out muffled, barely distinguishable, and absolutely disgusting. Liam eyes him warily as he inhales another third of sandwich, because Alec hasn't quite mastered the art of eating and breathing at the same time, and someone has had to Heimlich him on _more_ than one occasion. In the dirt next to the rock, Nolan picks at his muffin. When Liam looks at Mason, he has downed almost half of his truly _enormous_ drink, that was at least half pure sugar. Liam worries for Mason's heart, which is beating at almost double time, and also for himself, because that manic glint is stuck in Mason's eye now, instead of fading with sustenance like it usually does.

"Okay," Liam announces, when everyone is done with their breakfast, satiated, much more awake, and much _less_ likely to try to maim him for the early-morning wake-up call. "So, I kind of said something, that may have caused Theo to currently be avoiding me. And I can't find him, because there's a slight chance that he blocked my number. Or is just dodging my calls." And then, because he's unable to help himself, Liam adds, "But it's been days, and I don't think anyone's seen him. And I'm starting to get worried."

"What'd you say?" Nolan asks curiously, eyebrows inching towards his hairline as he fiddles with his muffin wrapper. Liam tries not to squirm.

" _It doesn't matter_ ," he snaps. "What _does_ matter, is we need to fucking _find_ him." He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his anxious heart, and maturely ignoring Nolan's muttered _"Touchy,_ " for the sake of staying unshifted and on topic.

"Why don't we just tell Scott?" Alec suggests, brows furrowing. "And then he can do his whole--" Alec waves his hand around his head vaguely, which Liam takes to mean _True Alpha voodoo_ , and Liam tries to come up with a convincing rebuttal, because just because Alec's young and his default solution is usually _'Go tell Dad'_ , doesn't mean it's a bad idea. It's just something that Liam can't do this time. Thankfully, Mason saves him, because he's a good friend.

"We can't do that," Mason says, side-eyeing Liam. Alec's frown deepens.

"Why not?" he asks, tilting his head in askance like the goddamn puppy he is. It's very difficult to be annoyed with him, but with this line of questioning being pursued, Liam manages.

"Because Liam's too embarrassed to explain to Scott that he doesn't know where Theo lives," Mason replies, rolling his eyes, and it's not like he's _wrong_ , but. Still. Liam's face burns and he also takes back everything he ever said about Mason being a good friend. Everyone is silent for a very long moment, and Alec's frown has somehow deepened _even further_.

"You. . . " Nolan tries, sounding more than a little disbelieving. He shakes his head, blinks, and then tries again. " _Dude_ ," he says, incredulous, "but you guys hang out like. . . _All the time_."

 _"Oh my fucking god,_ " Liam hisses, absolutely _done_ with the awful people he can't believe he ever called his friends. Mason looks unbearably smug, and Liam's hackles raise. "I am sure as _fuck_ not doing this again." They all stare at him, eyes wide, eyebrows raised, and Liam steamrolls over any further pointless questions with a firm: "Theo hasn't visited a pack member in _days_. We don't know where Theo is and we need to find him. It's not _that_ goddamn complicated. So can we just fucking _go_ already?" He doesn't even wait for a reply before he spins on his ankle, turning, toward the section of the preserve where his car is parked.

Liam steps out of the clearing, full of righteous annoyance, only to be halted by a warm hand at his shoulder. He turns, to find Mason's sympathetic eyes, and he deflates. "It's okay to be worried, you know," Mason says carefully, and Liam's embarrassed all of a sudden, for being so dramatic. "We've got your back," Mason says, because he _is_ , in fact, the best. "We've got your back, and we've got Theo's. We'll help you look for him, obviously."

Liam lets out a long, grateful sigh. "Thank you," he grumbles, because he's still vaguely mortified, even though Mason deserves better, but Mason just smiles back at him, reassuring. Liam squares his shoulder, drawing in a steadying breath. "Okay," he says, "So, Alec and Nolan can come with me to check the diner, and you and Corey can go to the Sheriff's station and see if anyone's seen his truck around, or something. Put out an A.P.B., or whatever they call it."

Corey snorts, says "You watch _way_ too many cop shows," at the same time that Nolan asks, "The _diner_?" and they all turn to him instead. "Why are we checking the _diner_? Don't you have Theo's shift schedule, like," he gestures vaguely, " _memorized_?"

Liam's face goes hot because _it's not like that, okay, and not not-like-that in the way that Liam walked into a tree the first time he made Theo laugh,_ really _laugh, and told himself it was because he was having coordination problems_ , it just ended up being _Liam_ who always went to the diner to tell Theo pack stuff and invite him to meetings and hang out with him and--

Liam shakes his head, grits his teeth, and steamrolls over the brief flash of mortification, in the way that a decade with I.E.D. has taught him how to do. " _Maybe,_ " he concedes, through a jaw that’s clenched so tight his head is starting to hurt, "but he told me his Thanksgiving schedule was different. Hence," he waves his arm, a bit aggressively, " _diner_ ".

Thankfully, it's dropped fairly quickly, and they all nod in semi-acquiescence, and before he knows it, he's piling into his Mom's car with Alec and Nolan, and pulling out of the preserve.

Liam's never been to the diner when Theo wasn't there to greet him; a fact that he realizes when he steps inside, bell ringing to signal his entrance, and it feels inexplicable empty, despite the patrons crowding the booths and tables. He tells Alec quietly to check outside, sniff around the parking lot for Theo's scent, and he nods obediently, exiting swiftly.

Liam can tell Theo isn't there as soon as he steps inside, because his bones don't start fucking vibrating the way they do when he's around, but it can't hurt to ask, so he steps up to the counter, where a vaguely-familiar looking girl is carefully pouring coffee, lips pursed in concentration, dark curls hanging in front of her eyes, and even though he's never seen her face before, somehow he _knows_ exactly who she is.

"Legs?" he tries, and her face _immediately_ contorts into an angry frown, as she snaps, "That's Shreya, to _you_ ," in a tone that's, honestly, _unwarrantedly_ aggressive, but Liam winces as he realizes she probably gets all kinds of creeps in here trying to call her whatever they want, and he's already opening his mouth in apology for his presumption when she finally finishes pouring her coffee, snapping her eyes to his, and they go wide in recognition. Her face lights up. She really is very pretty and Liam flashes back to Theo calling _Legs_ , over his shoulder, terribly fond, and he tries to quell the reflexive, _idiotic_ , jealousy that spikes low in his gut.

" _Bread sex boy,_ " she crows, _very_ loudly, looking _absolutely_ delighted, and a lot of the customers have turned to watch the commotion, expressions ranging from curious to scandalized, and Liam honestly just wants the ground to swallow him whole. _Where's Kira's hell sword when you need it_ , Liam thinks faintly -- as he catches Nolan just _barely_ suppressing laughter out of the corner of his eye, and _oh_ , _great_ , Alec is back from investigating the parking lot, looking faintly ill like he pointedly _does not want to know_ \-- _immediately_ regretting the internal joke as soon as he makes it, because Theo has _refused_ to tell him what happened down in Hell, cleverly deflecting all his thinly-veiled attempts to find out, but Liam has _seen_ the way he goes quiet and still sometimes, eyes seeing something (or _someone)_ who isn't there, while his heart rate spikes and his scent sours with fear. And now, Liam's back to thinking about Theo again, which seems to take up the majority of his higher (and _, ahem_ , lower) processing functions these days, but it also puts him back on topic. He shakes himself and turns to the girl who clearly _still_ thinks about Liam buying a concerning amount of bread during her shift at the grocery store months ago. Liam hasn't bought anything there _since_ , because the one time he tried, he caught sight of the shiny new _Public Decency Reminder_ nailed to the brick in the front, and it looked like it was laughing at him (and then he _really_ got the hint when the fucking _manager_ saw Liam and flicked his eyes toward it pointedly), so now he drives the extra twenty minutes to the one on the other side of town.

" _Theo_ ," Liam tries frantically, with a truly _mortifying_ voice crack escaping his throat in his desperation to change the topic. Shreya's grin widens, turning into a smirk -- not _unlike_ that of a shark's -- that makes Liam _emphatically_ uncomfortable.

" _Yes, six P.M. apple pie, extra scoop of vanilla ice cream?_ " she prompts, her voice honey-sweet and suggestive; _knowing_ , "Yes, Liam Dunbar, what about _Theo_?"

"You _know_ my name?" he blurts, surprised, and _then_ , as he realizes the implications of that, just a _little_ pathetically: "Theo _talks_ about me?"

"Have you seen him recently?" Nolan thankfully cuts in, taking enough pity on Liam to overcome his social awkwardness and just come out with it. "Does he have a shift today?" Shreya's smile falters, and concern begins creeping its way into her face. Liam is suddenly filled with dread.

"No," she replies, a worried frown marring her pretty features as she shakes her head. "No, he said he was cutting down his hours this week, but he hasn't shown up for a shift in _days_." She shrugs, scent going a little guilty. "Our manager called him, and then _I_ called him, but when he didn't pick up, we just assumed he was taking some sick days to spend time with family. He's never taken one before so he has, like, a bunch saved up."

"Theo doesn't have any family," Alec corrects, and Liam feels a brief flare of protectiveness surging because Theo _does_ have a family, it's called the fucking _pack_ , but it's interrupted by Shreya's _very_ surprised, " _Really?"_ , and Liam deflates a bit, because now is not the place.

"What about his adoptive Mom? Brother?" she asks, and all three of them are helpless to muster up a more helpful response than staring back blankly. Her frowns deepen, " _Melissa?_ " she asks, stretching the name out like she's speaking a different language, or like they're especially stupid. _"Scott_?" she tries, and Liam fights a smile, feeling warm, because she _gets_ it.

"Yeah, they're close enough," Liam relents, letting the smile loose, before remembering why they're there. He shakes his head, "But, no. No one has Theo in _three days_." He tries to keep the worry out of his voice, but he's pretty sure he's unsuccessful, going by the note of fear that enters her scent.

"You don't think. . ." she starts, eyes widening, before casting a cautious glance around the room, seemingly to check that no one's paying them any attention, and dropping her voice down into a whisper: " _Werewolf hunters?_ " And at _that_ , Liam's open palm _slams_ down on the table, harsh _smack_ reverberating around the room, but he barely pays it, or the shallow dent it forms, or how she, Alec, and Nolan startle violently, any attention, because there are only _two_ people who know about their pack; those who _were_ them, and those who _hunted_ them, and Liam _knows_ that the majority of this town falls into the latter category, but he's _really_ not comfortable with Theo's colleague-friend-girlfriend- _Legs_ person being one of those.

"How the _fuck,_ " he growls, danger clear in his voice, just like he intended, " _do you know what Theo is?"_

Shreya _smacks_ her palm down, right next to Liam's, with enough violent force that he worries a little that she made a matching dent right next to his. _Maybe she's a supernatural after all_ , he thinks absently, as her eyes narrow dangerously and he begins to sweat. " _First of all_ ," she says, tone even and measured, low and threatening, and Liam doesn't _gulp_ , but he doesn't _not_ gulp either, "this is my _place of work_ , so you better _pipe_ the _fuck_ down unless you want me to forcibly _remove you from the premises_." Her teeth are clenched and her legs are flexed furiously, to reveal _pure fucking muscle_ , and Liam might've made a slight miscalculation. Nolan squeaks, and Alec cowers behind him, clearly having been taught the importance of a covered, defensible position by Theo himself. _So that's why he calls you Legs_ , Liam thinks faintly, as she looms over the counter intimidatingly. "In fact," she starts, teeth bared, "the only reason I'm not doing that _right this second_ , is because I know about _you_ and _him_ , and--" and here, Liam's brain does a very disorienting record scratch because, _uh_ , apparently his crush is so fucking obvious that a girl who has met him _twice_ (and is Theo's maybe-secret-girlfriend) has noticed, and that conclusion is so fucking mortifying that he only tunes back into the conversation to hear the tail end of whatever she's saying, as she begins to gesture sharply in front of his face: "-- _this_ fucking _mess_ of an overreaction is just some," she wiggles her fingers, "protectiveness. Which is good. He could stand to have more people in his life who are protective of him. But I'm not a goddamn hunter, and I _definitely_ didn't drink the _psychotic-ass_ Tamara Monroe Kool-Aid." She wrinkles her nose in seeming disgust. "I don't pick up a machine gun when I'm scared. This isn't The Purge, _Jesus_. I lock my doors and cover my windows and hide in my _cellar_ like a _normal person_."

Liam blinks. Nolan untenses a bit. Alec steps out from behind him, sheepish. Shreya huffs and rolls her eyes.

"I figured out about him," she says, glare starting to soften a bit, "because the Likes-Attract hypothesis, along with _basic goddamn statistics_ , posits that if _you're_ some kind of werewolf, then so is _he._ "

" _Me?_ " Liam asks, _completely_ bewildered, because he's just apparently an open fucking book these days, huh? Clearly he needs to be more careful if some random girl, who _wasn't even involved in the Monroe situation_ , can read not only that he sort-of, maybe, likes Theo, but also the secret he's kept since _freshman fucking year_. "How'd _you_ know about _me?"_ She raises an eyebrow, challenging. Liam is suddenly _extremely_ wary.

"That day when we were cleaning out storage," she says, the corner of her mouth twitching as she clearly tries to hide a smile, and Liam chokes, because he _remembers_ that day, oh _fucking hell_ , does he remember it. It's notable in the fact that this visit to the diner was before he even _liked_ Theo; in the time between the ghost riders and the hunters, the uncharacteristically scorching summer, when the town was quiet enough, but Liam was still keeping tabs on him, because after all, Theo was _his_ responsibility. And so he came to the diner, ordered a slice of pie, and glared at Theo for a solid two hours in hopes that it would intimidate him into not doing anything nefarious for a while. Theo, to his credit, just rolled his eyes and ignored him for the most part, and everything would've been _fine_ except Liam was a little tightly-wound because it was the night of the full moon, and he was feeling extra petty that day, and so he passive-aggressively stayed after hours while Theo ran some errands around the diner, and it was _absolutely fine_ until Theo changed out of his uniform to accommodate the rising temperature, and starting lugging heavy boxes out of storage, unpacking them carefully, and Liam choked violently on his pie when he looked up to see Theo in his full, bicep-rippling, sweat-slicked glory, because _honestly_ , _his tank tops and goddamn skinny jeans should be declared_ illegal, Liam thought, eyes helplessly flitting between his impressive, flexing thighs, and the appealing stubble dusting his jawline. By the time he had finally hacked his pie back out, Theo was bent over, picking up another box, and Liam could _feel_ his eyes flaring as they settled on Theo's ass flexing in his jeans, and Liam remembers his arms looked _enormous_ and all Liam wanted to do was pin his wrists to the wall, _taste_ the line of sweat that dripped down his collarbone, and sink his _teeth_ into the long line of Theo's neck, before he came back to himself, absolutely _mortified_ at the apparent object of his, well, _objectification_ , and forced the shift back down, ducking out frantically before Theo could smell the arousal on him, and chalking it up to _hormones running high on the full moon, completely normal and heterosexual, of course_ , because past Liam was an idiot, and a _master_ of self-denial, and also, apparently, thirsty as hell.

" _Whatever you're thinking about_ ," Alec hisses, looking positively _green_ , breaking Liam efficiently out of his reverie, " _Stop thinking about it_." And Liam flushes painfully remembering, _right; werewolf, chemosignals_ , and Shreya looks _way_ too delighted as she crosses her arms over her chest; smug almost.

"Yeah," she says, and that's _definitely_ some smugness, "I know you weren't noticing much besides," she coughs, clearly to hide a laugh, but it's pretty unsuccessful and Liam just flushes _harder_ , "the _obvious_ , but I was there too. I saw your _eyes_ flash." Her grin widens and she leans closer. "And," she says, almost conspiratorially, "I'm the one who ordered the replacement for that chair." She gestures toward a chair at an empty table that's clearly brighter and newer than the other ones, and makes a clawing motion, before bursting into the cackling laughter that's haunted Liam since that fateful grocery store visit, and Liam doesn't _remember_ clawing a seat cushion to death because of Theo's flexing arms, but he _definitely_ believes it happened because he remembers the absolute _rush_ of adrenaline that came with the sight of sweat-glinting skin in the early evening sunlight, and _yeah_ , _the claws coming out, that checks out_ , but that doesn't mean he isn't _unbelievably mortified_ , because this entire diner visit has been kind of vaguely humiliating, but the reminder of him wolfing out because he couldn't keep his hate-boner (suspicion boner?) in his pants _definitely_ takes the goddamn cake.

"Okay," Nolan cuts in, looking confused -- and Liam hopes he's not expecting an explanation after this because there's no way in _hell_ he's rehashing this shit -- and eyeing Liam and Shreya like they’re both short of a marble, or perhaps, a _few_. "Thanks for your help. We're pretty sure it's not hunters," he reassures, "because we would've noticed their presence in town, but we'll keep looking for him, and keep you updated, and, uh, can you just. . . Keep an eye out?"

Shreya nods in acquiescence, accepts Liam's apology about the subtly-dented counter, and gives them three free coffees, waving away their payment with a brief, _"On the house, because you're Theo's_ ," and Liam fights the reflexive blush that rises up his neck, and the heat that pools in his gut, at _Theo's_ , even as Alec starts looking ill again and Nolan rolls his eyes, still smiling, and Liam drops a crisp twenty into the tip jar before they wave a goodbye to Shreya and set out for the parking lot once more.

"So that was pretty useless," Alec says, characteristically unhelpful while he productively kicks a small rock across the painted parking lot concrete. "All we learned is that we can't take Liam out in public anymore." Liam spares him a brief, obligatory, _"Fuck you_ ," before letting it go, and getting into the car again, because it's not like he's _wrong_.

He lets Nolan and Alec pour into the car and down at _least_ half a cup of coffee each before he even makes a move to put his keys in. He's about to start the car when his phone rings, Mason's name lighting up the screen. Liam swipes, and puts it to his ear. "Hey, man."

" _Hey_ ," Mason replies, almost perfunctorily. His tone is off, and Liam doesn't like it. " _Did you guys find him?_ "

Liam groans, scrubbing a hand across his still-sleep-crusty eyes. "No," he huffs, letting his head _thunk_ against the cool glass window. "He wasn't there. Apparently he hasn't shown up for a shift in _days._ " He takes an indulgent swig of satisfyingly boiling coffee to ease his mounting anxiety. It only sort of works. "Did you?"

" _Well, we found_ something," Mason says carefully, and at _that_ Liam sits up straight and puts his phone on speaker, because something's clearly wrong. " _Liam, it doesn't look good_."

" _What do you mean?_ " Liam asks, panic creeping up his throat and bleeding into his voice, " _What happened? Is he okay?"_

" _Liam_ ," Mason repeats, and then the line goes _very_ deliberately quiet, like Mason's trying to come up with the words, but Liam's _way_ too frantic, and has a hair-trigger even on a good day, let alone on a day _this_ close to the full moon, when he hasn't seen Theo in _days_ , and is becoming increasingly worried about it. Nolan puts a steadying hand on his shoulder, but it doesn't help this time.

"Mason, _what_?" Liam snaps, even though Mason doesn't deserve it, because he's suddenly _terrified_ , and he thinks if Mason doesn't answer in the next five seconds, his stomach is going to force the coffee back up his throat and expel its contents right onto the steering wheel of his Mom's pristine car.

" _We think,"_ Corey tries, smooth, even voice cutting through the increasingly oppressive silence that was pervading the line. His voice drops down to a horrified whisper, as he tries to continue; breathes, " _Liam, we think he's_ homeless."

For a second, Liam's mind goes completely blank, the words ringing in his ears and bouncing around his head, and he can't _process_ them. The car is completely silent, and so is the other end of the line. Nobody moves a muscle. And _then_ , Liam _understands_ , and some tangled _feeling_ rises in him, so sharp and swift, that he's just _barely_ able to drag in a ragged, heaving breath before the spots swimming in front of his eyes can coalesce and overtake the rest of his field of vision, and he feels a gentle hand on his neck for a moment, the soothing balm of _pack_ , before the _panic, anger, nausea_ slowly ebbs to a more manageable level.

" _Thanks_ ," he chokes out, wincing at the taste in his mouth, bile burning in the back of his throat, as Alec maintains the reassuring contact. Alec shrugs it off, and hands him back the phone, where it dropped underneath the seat. Nolan's still stock-still in the passenger seat, staring blankly ahead, eyes wide.

"What the _fuck_ do you mean, _homeless?_ " Liam manages, heart ceaselessly pounding through his chest, dread mounting in his stomach.

"The Sheriff said we could check the reports," Mason says, matter-of-factly, "And so we looked up his truck, and all that came up was a bunch of reports from deputies who gave notices -- to a teenager matching Theo's description -- for loitering in his truck in prohibited areas. They said they had to wake him up, every time, to get him to move." Liam feels like he can't breathe, like all the oxygen was sucked straight out of his lungs, and now he can’t seem to get enough air, even as he wheezes a couple helpless breaths in. Mason continues, voice low, careful, troubled and a little guilty, "It looks like he's been living in his truck. These reports stretch back all the way to the beginning of the summer. I don't think he's had a home since he came back."

"How--?" Liam tries, words sticking in his throat as his eyes start stinging, but he forces them out: "How could he--? We would _know_ if he was--"

"Liam," Mason admonishes, gentle, and for all that his tone is free of judgement, it does _very_ little to abate the strangling guilt closing itself around Liam's unprotected neck and making his heart _clench_ so hard that it's a miracle it keep beating afterward.

And Liam's panicked mind flashes back, back, _back_ , to dark bruises hanging under tired eyes, the smell of exhaustion and fear acrid in the truck, waving off concerns and questions and offers to stay the night, and then, like a program overloading with too many inputs, his mind goes completely quiet. He says a quick, "I have to go," to Mason, and Mason must hear something in his voice, because he's observant like that, and he tries a concerned, almost frantic, " _Wait, Liam--_ " but it mostly falls on deaf ears, because Liam ends the call, and his mind his still blank.

It's blank as he gets back into the car, Nolan and Alec eyeing him with considerable concern. It's blank as he pulls out of the parking lot, accelerating down the empty road at breakneck speeds, and it's blank as he pulls into the McCall's driveway. It's blank as he pounds on the door, and it's blank as Scott opens up, and the blank numbness only fades when he steps inside and is assaulted by the smell of _pack_. And that's when the anger starts to filter in instead.

Quick, so quick that Scott, with all his alpha reflexes, doesn't even have time to block it, Liam has him pinned against the wall _hard_ , held up by his collar, Scott's startled, "Liam, _what--?_ " falling on deaf ears as Liam's blood positively _boils_ and his teeth and claws come out, unbidden but not unwelcome, he _growls_ , certain that he must seem positively _feral_ right now, but not giving a flying _fuck_ , because. Well.

" _Did you know?_ " he all but screams and it's meant to come out threatening, but he mostly sounds like he's going to cry, and he can feel Nolan and Alec behind him, alarmed and trying to pull him off ineffectually, but it's like batting flies away. He grips Scott even tighter, so tight that his claws cut straight through Scott's shirt and into the meat of his own palms, and the pain grounds him, just a little bit, as Scott casts his eyes around Liam's face, scrambling in Liam's unforgiving hold. Liam flares his eyes, a _threat_ , and Scott flares his back, red meeting gold as a _reassurance_ , as a _reflex_ , as he replies, bewildered, "Know _what_? _What are you t_ \--" and Liam knows that the only reason Scott's still pinned is because Scott is _letting_ him, and that, combined with the Alpha red that soothes something _primal_ under his skin, is the only reason he loosens his hold on Scott a bit, letting him down, but keeping him pressed against the wall, because Liam _needs_ this, or he feels like he's going to come _apart_ at the seams, completely unravel right here in the McCall's living room.

" _Did you,_ " Liam chokes out, " _Did you know that Theo was homeless?"_

And a punched out sound escapes Scott as his expression goes slack with shock, flailing hands stilled, and Liam is determined to stand his ground, glaring, before their both jolted out of their one-sided stand off by the sound of glass breaking, and Liam jumps, as his surroundings finally filter in.

Alec is standing off to the side, commiserating, and Nolan stands next to him, raking his hands through his hair reflexively, still looking fairly green. Malia and Kira are frozen in their spot in the living room, Kira stretched across the couch and Malia sprawled across the floor, some kind of board game on the coffee table between them. In the doorway, hands still open, palms facing up, is Melissa, tray of smashed drink glasses lying shattered at her feet, horrified shock bleeding into her face before she curls her hands around her gaping mouth.

"He was _homeless_?" she asks quietly, sounding absolutely _heartbroken_ , and that takes the last of the fight out of Liam as he numbly detangles his claws from the punctures in Scott's shirt before all but _collapsing_ into Scott. "Why," she tries, sounding _absolutely_ miserable, "why wouldn’t he _say_ something?"

Scott grips Liam, in an awful role reversal of a couple moments ago, but his grip is grounding, reassuring. "I _didn't,_ " he promises. "Liam, I _swear_ , I didn't know," sounding _just_ as miserable as Melissa did, and then, curious, but carefully free of judgement, "You've _never_ been to his house? And you didn't think that was a little strange?"

Liam's thrown and bewildered and honestly kind of angry that this is getting turned back around at him, hackles raising at a rate quicker than contact with Scott can manage to soothe. " _No,_ " Liam spits, bristling, "Why would he invite _me_ over?"

And the room goes silent, Kira and Malia eyeing him dubiously, Melissa looking torn between a sob and a laugh, and Scott giving him the _most_ pitying look he's ever received, and Liam is still confused, so he tries again, slightly less angry, but no less determined, "Why didn't _you_ know where he was living, _Alpha_?", spitting the honorific with a vitriol that makes Scott wince, before he squares his shoulders and looks Liam straight in the eye. He looks like he's facing a firing squad and Liam feels a subtle spike of smugness, before Scott seemingly decides on his excuse.

"I didn't want him to feel like I was his parole officer," Scott says, back to miserable and guilty, "So I didn't ask." And then, he looks hesitant for a brief moment, before soldiering on, "And I thought that _you guys_ hung out there, and I didn't want to make it seem like you _had_ to tell me, when you clearly didn't want to." And Liam furrows his brows, says, " _Tell you what?_ " but it's drowned out by Scott mustering up some of that True Alpha courage and explaining, carefully, tone slow and deliberate, "I was just trying to _respect your boundaries_ ," and Liam feels a _rush_ of combined annoyance and gratitude that almost drowns out Mason's exasperated _"Oh my god, there's two of them_ ," before Scott seems to realize that the remaining occupants of the room are still hovering around, watching them.

He tightens his arms around Liam's shoulders, faces the rest of the room.

"Did you?" Scott asks, eyeing Kira and Malia, tone neutral, and then he casts his glance around the room. "Did _any_ of you know?" A beat of silence. Then another, and Liam starts to relax a little bit because he could _not_ be held accountable for his actions, if someone decided to speak up and admit that--

" _I did_."

Liam, along with the rest of the room, turns to Argent, leaning nonchalantly in the kitchen doorway like he was going to escape this confrontation alive. He looks regretful, but not guilty, and it stirs up a complicated mess of emotion's in Liam's gut that he doesn't have the presence of mind to dissect right now because he's too busy trying to keep himself from jumping across the room and raking his claws right through Argent's throat. Scott's arms tighten around Liam's shoulders _even more_ like he heard Liam's thoughts, and _hey_ , Liam doesn't know _how_ this whole pack-bond bullshit works. Maybe he did. He's about to spit something out, probably something scathing or offensive or blood, going by the warm liquid pooling in his mouth from where a fang punctured the inside of his cheek, but Scott beats him to it.

" _Why_ ," he asks, a little desperately, "why wouldn't you _tell_ us?"

Argent looks tired but defiant, remorseful but uncowering, tipping his chin up. "As you have told me _many times_ ," he starts, crossing his arms and looking Scott straight in the eye, "you're an adult, and this is _your_ pack," and then, quieter, tone unreadable, "it's not my place to interfere in how an _alpha_ decides to punish an _omega_ in his territory," and a growl escapes Liam, a threatening _"Omega?"_ , but it's almost _completely_ drowned out by Scott, voice rapidly climbing octaves as he all but squawks _, "Punishments_?" but Argent seemingly ignores it, setting his jaw. "I thought you knew." He turns, doing a brief survey of the room, looking surprised, almost betrayed, "I thought _all of you_ knew. You should be able to _smell it_. And anyways, its an effective form of punishment," he says, looking begrudgingly impressed and Liam has never wanted to tear someone's head off more than in this moment, but he reigns it in, because Argent opens his mouth to seemingly elaborate. "Always lurking on the edge of the pack, knowing he's never going to be a part of it, conditional acceptance, thinking he's only being used to help with Monroe, not sleeping, barely eating . . ." he trails off, face completely blank as he says, carefully, "it's a _very_ powerful form of punishment for someone with his . . . History. So you'll have to excuse me if I assumed it was some kind of," he pauses for a beat, then another, before he seemingly decides on " _penance_."

Scott whispers, angrily, determinedly, "but he _is_ a part of it", but Liam is distracted by Melissa, who swivels her whole body to face Argent, and Liam recognizes the look on her face, the same look she wore as she whipped out a cattle prod in a hospital all those months ago. "You would let a _kid_ be homeless," Melissa seethes, through clenched teeth, "for _penance?_ " and Liam has never been more scared of someone in his _life_ , but the wolf inside him is vindictively smug at the threat to Argent, who's looking a little hunted now, even though the expression (like _all_ expressions on his face) is barely perceptible.

"It's not my place," he echoes, "To dictate how an alpha _disciplines_ the weres underneath him."

Melissa seems to grit her teeth even harder, eyes blazing, snaps, "I'm _sorry_ ," sounding the _least_ sorry Liam's ever heard a person sound, "What the _f--_ "

"I only found out," he cuts in, unreadable expression gone, replaced by something that _screams_ exhaustion, "because I followed him one night."

"I," Scott tries, looking thrown. "You _what_?" and Argent doesn't wince outwardly at the accusatory threat in his tone, because he's _Argent_ , but Liam _swears_ he sees it pass through his mind. Argent seemingly arrives at a decision, crossing across the room and sinking down into an armchair, deflating like all the fight as been sucked out of him for once, and all that's left is the overwhelming sense of being _done_.

"It was back when I still didn't trust him," Argent says, letting out an uncharacteristic sigh. "About a month after Monroe escaped."

\---

Argent rolls up the map sprawling across the dinner table, effectively concluding the meeting, and the people around the table start rising, breaking off, chairs screeching as they drag across the wooden floor and making plans to go out and get some dinner, but Argent's too busy observing Theo, who's been suspiciously jumpy the whole meeting, now sitting stock-still at the empty table, staring blankly into space.

"You good?" Argent asks, keeping his tone carefully neutral, and it makes Theo jump, jolting him out of whatever reverie he was in as he blinks and takes in the room around him, faces Argent again, and pulls an unconvincing smile onto his face.

"Yeah," Theo says, getting up slowly from the table. "Yeah, of course."

Argent catches Malia sauntering up to Theo from behind, but Theo doesn't, because he's still apparently not firing on all cylinders, so he startles when she slings an arm around his neck. "Hey," she says, eyeing him, a little like the way Argent's been eyeing him, but with notably less suspicion. "Are you coming? We're going to Galini's for dinner," and Theo looks a little disproportionately hunted, so Malia continues, "We're meeting Mason and Corey there," and then apparently delivers what she thinks is the winning blow, " _Liam_ would be pretty disappointed if you didn't show," and Theo flinches, almost imperceptibly, before slanting a half-betrayed, half-admonishing look at Malia, and Argent thinks, _interesting_ , right as Theo seems to regain his wits, shaking his head and deftly escaping her hold.

"Sorry, I can't," Theo says, deliberately nonchalant, brushing the offer off along with her arm on his shoulder. "It's pretty late. I, uh. I have to go," he finishes, in possibly the _most_ suspicious way possible -- so suspect that _Malia_ starts giving him a strange look -- looking fairly shifty as he escapes through the front door while the pack is distracted cleaning up the living room and trying to sort through the pile of jackets and wallets in the corner. Distantly, Argent wonders how _Theo_ was ever deceptive enough to tear apart the McCall pack when these days he seems to wear everything right on his face, as he follows the pack out the front door, locking it behind him and dismissing them with a perfunctory, "I'll meet you guys there," before getting into his car and pulling out of the driveway, tailing Theo's truck and fervently hoping that it's nothing nefarious (because _maybe_ , he thinks, begrudgingly, _just maybe, somewhere along the line, he's started to_ like _Theo_ ), but mentally resigning himself to being disappointed, because people are usually pretty disappointing.

He's surprised when, instead of going into the sewers, or to meet with some villain in the woods, all Theo does is pull his truck into the edge of the preserve, and then park. Argent maintains his distance, shutting off the headlights and turning off his car, and waits for something to happen. _Maybe this is the meeting_ , he thinks, _maybe this is some kind of drop spot_. And so he waits, and then waits some more. He's been sitting in silence and stillness for almost an hour, waiting for something, _anything_ to happen, when he finally decides that he's going to have to make the first move. Argent has had patience drilled into him since he first picked up a hunting gun, but he'll be damned if he misses dinner just because he's waiting for _Theo Raeken_ to do something suspicious, and so he gets out of his car, and approaches Theo's warily, gun drawn and pointing towards the ground, safety off, until he's right upon it, and then he almost drops his gun out of surprise.

 _He's sleeping_ , Argent realizes, half-hysterically, if anything he thinks could ever approach hysterical instead of practiced and even and measured. _He's sleeping in his truck, in the middle of the woods_ , because he _is_ , sprawled across the back seat, using his jacket as a pillow and what appears to be some flannel as a blanket. And, for once, without considering the consequences too much, he raps on the glass of the backseat, only for Theo to startle violently awake, and _scramble_ in the other direction, back to the car door on the other side, hands up to protect his face, as he heaves, " _I'm sorry_ ,", not even looking in Argents direction, says again, " _I'm going, I'm going, don't worry_ ," as he _frantically_ pushes his makeshift pillow and blanket into the corner and starts climbing into the front seat -- and something in Argent's chest _twists_ unwillingly, just a little -- which is when Theo finally looks up enough to meet Argents eye. He blinks.

"Oh," Theo says, and Argent raises an eyebrow, because he's _really not sure_ how to address whatever's happening here, but it seems like the safest option. "It's just you," he says, deflating a little bit and relaxing before he seems to take in the situation and tenses again. Argent gestures towards the window, and Theo moves to roll it down, takes a deep, measured breath in, followed by a gusty exhale, and then asks, "What do you want?", giving Argent a look like _he's_ the one doing something weird.

"Why didn't you go for dinner with the others?" Argent asks, because it's the easiest question to posit right now, and because he's learned that Theo doesn't care enough about their relationship to lie to him, so unless he's _really_ doing something nefarious, asking him is usually the least annoying way to extract information out of him.

Theo sighs, scrubs a hand across his jaw and knuckles at his eyes before he seems to take Argent's fake-neutral tone for what it is -- thinly veiled suspicion -- and just decides to answer. "I don't get paid until tomorrow," he says, sounding resigned. "Spent the last of what I had on gas this morning."

"You were sleeping," Argent prompts, deciding he's just going to address this head-on, the way he does everything else, and trying to contain his annoyance when Theo just rolls his eyes in response. Argent narrows his eyes threateningly, a practiced expression, and Theo still looks offensively unimpressed, but he answers anyways.

" _Yes_ ," he says, slowly, like he's speaking to a small child, and Argent has to suppress his instinctual need to actually punch him in the face, but then Theo seems to withdraw a bit, a wave of exhaustion seeping across his face. "Don’t get much sleep these days," he says, tone unreadable and face blank, "but I like to at least try for a couple hours", dragging up an _infuriatingly_ smarmy smirk, and Argent _knows_ it's a front, but he can't help but snap, "You _know_ that's not what I meant," before regaining control over himself after two even breaths, and trying again, carefully, "You were sleeping in your _truck_."

Theo furrows his brows, clearly bewildered. "You _knew_ that," he says, slightly accusatory, and Argent lets his other eyebrow creep up to meet the first, and then Theo tries again, a little hunted, a little vitriolic, very defensive: "Where did you _think_ I was staying? _The Hilton_?" and Argent drops both eyebrows, gives him a deadpan look to hide how _very_ bewildered he is, because honestly, he thought about it in an absent sort of way -- Theo staying at his old house where he threatened his Dread Doctor-hired fake parents, Theo staying in his old home in the sewers, Theo squatting in someone's abandoned home -- but he never _really_ considered what options Theo has had, and that's how he comes to understand, _he's been living in his truck_. And then, slower, to process it, _He's been living in his truck the whole time_.

"Why," he starts, and then stops, before his voice can do something uncharacteristic. He starts again. "Why wouldn't you tell someone? If you need help? It's not like you to be worried about _taking advantage of someone_ ," he says, sneering through that last bit, but it's all a front, something to cover up the tangled feeling rising in his chest because, _god, when will this shitshow of a town ever cut these kids a break_. He stops that train of thought, just in time to see Theo's expression go completely blank, completely unreadable, even to Argent, and he thinks _there he is_ , he thinks _there's the Theo who was good enough at hiding things that he fooled the entire pack_.

"They already know," Theo says, tone carefully neutral, and Argent stills, because, _what_. Theo sighs, a gusty, resigned, tired one, says "they've all been in this truck before. They can smell it. They've very _tellingly_ never asked to come over, or where I'm living, or whatever. They know." And that keeps Argent paused, he thinks at Scott, slightly impressed, mostly horrified, _wow, kid, didn't know you had it in you_ , but Argent isn't the same ruthless man when he came into this town, and he thinks, a split second before the words come out, _god, I've gone soft_ , before he offers, "I've got space," and now it's Theo's turn to go completely still, and it's not like Argent _regrets_ it, but he preemptively feels a thread of dread in his gut as he imagines the issues this will cause with Scott, if he was finally manning up enough to punish people in his territory. But even _if_ Scott's an alpha -- _a true alpha_ \-- and Argent doesn't really have the right to interfere, this is a little above werewolf power hierarchies, and so Argent continues, because _in for a penny, in for a pound_ , says "You don't have to do this anymore. Come stay with me for a bit," trying to keep his voice devoid of all emotion, but the effort is wasted, because Theo doesn't even seem to notice, shaking his head as soon as it comes out of his mouth, and Argent's stone-cold heart sinks.

"Thanks," Theo says, eyes facing firmly forward, fixed on the windshield and deliberately not on Argent, " _Really_ , thanks," he echoes, and Argent is _thrown_ by the genuine pure gratitude in his voice. "But, this isn't less than what I deserve," he smiles wryly, but even the dry expression doesn't reach his eyes. He gestures towards his truck. "In fact, it's probably _more_ than I deserve. We reap what we sow, and all that. We _all_ have to pay for our sins." And then, he says, much quieter, almost a whisper: "and this is just my penance, I think." Argent nods, feeling completely discombobulated, like the floor was pulled out from underneath him and he's still falling. He thinks of another boy, one with a rough childhood and fucked up parental figures and who needed a home; who Argent _gave_ a home to, eventually. Sure, he had a freezer in the basement instead of an underground Hell, but Argent still can't help but see the parallels, and he feels a little numb as he turns back around, begins the trek back to his car.

" _Hey, Argent,_ " Theo calls, and Argent turns back around slowly, wondering if Theo changed his mind after all, before he sees his face; the wry smile turned _sad_ , eyes suspiciously shiny, and actually meeting Argent’s for once instead of avoiding them. "How much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else," he asks, voice sounding thick, and then a laugh escapes him, half-hysterically, coming out like broken glass, like it cuts his throat on its way out. "Before it's some kind of murder?" And Argent feels _way_ out of his depth, doesn't know what he's supposed to say to _that_ , but it appears Theo wasn't waiting for an answer, as he dismisses him with a sardonic little wave, rolls the window up, and crawls back into the back seat, sprawling out again, and Argent waits for Theo’s eyes to shut, before pulling a crisp one-hundred out of his wallet and stuffing it into the small space between the window glass and the door.

Argent walks back to his car, feeling numb. Before he knows it, he's sitting in the front seat, staring at the blue truck, looking small against the backdrop of the tall, intimidating preserve, and he _knows_ that he needs to get back, but he can't bring himself to start the car yet.

He sits in silence for another hour, thinking and thinking and thinking, before he sees the time, and starts the car. The drive home is fairly a blur, because he can't bring himself to take the turn to the place where the pack is eating, and so he just scarfs down three pieces of toast when he gets home, washing it down with some bourbon, before lying down on top of the covers, still fully dressed, staring up at the ceiling, completely exhausted, but wide awake.

He doesn't sleep that night, and he doesn't bring it up again. Neither does Theo.

\---

The room is silent as Argent finishes, only cut through as Kira breathes a horrified, " _Oh my god_ ," and Malia tangles her fingers with hers -- support, solidarity, comfort -- and Liam suddenly misses Theo _so_ fervently that something grips him inside the chest and _clenches_ and _clenches_ and _clenches_ and Liam feels ill.

" _Jesus_ ," Melissa echoes, agreeing, eyes shiny.

"He thought we _knew_?" Scott asks, sounding choked up, like there's something caught in his throat. "He thought we would just-- We would just _make him--_ "

"He thought you knew," Argent concedes, scratching at his stubble absently, "and so did I." And Liam's just. _Done_.

" _Please,_ " he tries, throat closing up, "Can you guys just _please_ help me find him? We've been looking for him _everywhere_ and we can't, and I'm _worried_."

"Of _course_ ," Scott says, blinking quickly, like there was something in his eye, reassurance like a balm on Liam's frayed nerves. "We've got you. And, we've got him. _We'll find him_." A promise. A guarantee.

"I remember where he parked that night," Argent offers, looking _dead_ tired in his chair, as he rubs his thumb and forefinger across his eyebrows, and then focuses in on his temples, like he's trying to massage a migraine out. "We can try there first."

They pile into cars and then search the border of the preserve without any success, before they venture deeper in, hoping for some luck. It's thorough, but it's slow work; at least until Liam realizes just _how_ well he can smell Theo even though the scent seems old, and they decide to use his nose (though Scott gives him a _very_ weird look when he realizes exactly _what_ Liam is following), instead of just scanning the whole thing. It only takes them thirty or so minutes to find the truck. It takes them thirty minutes to find Theo's bullet-ridden truck right next to the bridge where his sister died, five seconds to smell _blood_ and _wolfsbane_ and _fear_ , broken leaves on the ground absolutely _covered_ in dark, congealed, blood, fifteen minutes for Scott to calm Liam down from a full-on rampage, as he sees _red_ and _completely_ loses control over the shift at the first smell of _Theo_ and _wolfsbane,_ claws out, fangs painfully pushing out of his gums, vision completely tunneled, and veins flooding with adrenaline. He _can't_ stop, and Scott can't _make_ him stop, and in the end, Scott decides there's nothing to do for it but to knock him out, because Scott's an _ass_.

\---

He wakes up in the middle of the McCall living room. It's completely full, Malia and Kira taking over the loveseat, practically on top of one another, Lydia, apparently right from the airport, sitting on the floor in front of them, somehow still prim and proper, Corey, Alec, and Nolan, clustered right next to him, while Mason's lap is what he's apparently been using as a pillow. Derek and Argent are sitting in the armchairs, and Scott's standing at the front of the room, scrubbing a hand across his jaw. They're all talking over each other, and it's absolutely _deafening_ , and in hindsight, probably what woke Liam up in the first place. He sits up, waving off Mason's apologetic smile, before tuning into the conversation, just catching the tail end of Lydia, saying, _admonishing_ , really, "-- don't even know how long they've had him. Why'd you guys let him go off the radar for _three days_."

Scott's eyes flick to Liam for a split second, and then back to Lydia, as he replies, deliberately nonchalant, "It doesn't matter" and Liam can't help the residual guilt pooling in his stomach, the fear and anxiety and panic he's working himself into because _oh my god, they have Theo_. He thinks, _oh my god, they have Theo because of me,_ before Scott turns to him, snaps, " _hey_ , _stop that_ ," and Liam takes a deep breath, and forces it back down, because right now there's a better use of his energy than self-loathing, and the cacophony of people shouting over each other continues.

" _Stop_ ," Kira says, and it echoes through the room, reverberating powerfully across the walls as everyone falls dutifully silent. Something about her, when she came back from the Skinwalkers, inherently _commanded_ respect, even from the _Alpha_ , because no one could quite decipher the constantly-knowing look in her eyes when she returned; like she had already learned all there was to know. He asked her once, about how she seemed more settled, more comfortable in her own skin, and she just replied, _time passes differently there_ , replied, _I spent a very long time learning_ , and Liam would have been annoyed with the cryptic nature of her answers, if he wasn't kind of scared to know exactly _what_ it was she had learned down there. "He was _taken_ ," Kira says, "so it doesn't _matter_. All we need to think about, is how to _find_ him."

"He was taken in the middle of the woods," Lydia muses, picking absently at the chipped polish on her fingernails. It reminds him of the blood on the cracked leaves in the preserve, and Liam has to look away. "No cameras, which makes it difficult to identify the vehicle that took him."

The room stays quiet, before Scott offers, slowly, "we may not need cameras," scratches the stubble on his chin and says, contemplatively, "The full moon is tomorrow night," and then his eyes flick to Liam again and _stay_ there, and Liam's anxiety spikes a bit, but mostly, he's just _ready_. Ready to do whatever it takes. Scott continues to eye him, clearly thinking, before he says, "We'll have to talk to Deaton."

He smiles a bit, still sad and scared, but just hopeful enough for Liam to be able to breathe again. "But, I think I have an idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhhh the return of the grocery store cashier!!! also, another diner scene!! what can I say? I like it as a setting. We also have some ~kira backstory~ and maybe a plan to save Theo and I AM so excited to give you guys the next chapter because it's going to be SUPER fucking emotional. In other news, I binge watched 2 seasons of All American in 2 days and now think a lot about cody christian in a crop top, and also kind of want to write a football Theo thing, except I don't know ANYTHING about sports haha
> 
> Anyways, tell me what you think!! What you liked, what you didn't, and everything in between; all feedback is welcome! My tumblr is [inabottlelikelightning](https://www.inabottlelikelightning.tumblr.com) if you want to hmu :)


	4. from what we cannot hold, the stars are made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! This chapter is going up a lil early because I'm SO goddamn excited about it (and maybe as a Halloween gift). It's one of the scenes that I literally envisioned when I decided I was going to try writing for the first time, so :DDD one of my favorite chapters so far for sure
> 
> This time, I finished the chapter at the beginning of the week and reread it Way too many times, so I'm kinda desensitized to it now, and I can't really tell if it's as ~tumultous~ as I thought it was when I first wrote it, but I guess you guys will be the judge of that :) It was also supposed to be combined with the next chapter, but by the time I was done writing it, it was 9k, so I was like......... yeah okay, this is done
> 
> Love you guys so much, thank you for all the fantastic comments, they're really good encouragement, and they make me excited to write faster :) I really hope y'all enjoy!!

"So you _understand_ what you have to do here?" Scott asks, for maybe the _thousandth_ time, and while normally it would be kind of endearing how cautious and worried Scott is, right now Liam has someone very important to see, and the only thing keeping him from it is Scott's relentless mothering. Liam can tell the moon is about to come up by the late golden light filtering through the windows of the McCall living room, which means it's almost time, so he’s not exactly sure _what_ Scott’s hoping to accomplish by drilling him on this _now_. Argent, Melissa, and Lydia are the only ones in the living room, courtesy of Deaton's guidelines which _strictly_ warned against too many pack members crowding up the house _during_ \-- too distracting and too dangerous.

Argent is typing away on a military-grade looking computer, presumably preparing for Liam to adequately obtain some kind of useful information about Theo's location. Lydia's sitting on the couch — sketching out a complicated series of hexagons so beyond Liam's comprehension that he can't tell if it's supposed to be weird banshee voodoo or just organic chemistry — invited for the sole purpose that she would be able to tell if something starts going horribly wrong. Melissa sits on the floor, not _fidgeting_ exactly, because she's far too even-tempered to ever do something so _benign_ , but just sitting there, _worrying_ , because she _refused_ to not be present when they told her the plan, dismissing Scott's attempts to get her out of the house for the night swiftly and efficiently with a no-nonsense _"Sorry,_ who _was it that brought you back from the dead?_ Twice? _Not a chance, kiddo, you're not doing this without me_." Everyone's antsy about the plan, the anxiety palpable in the room, even though Melissa, Argent, and Lydia are some of the most steadying, confident presences he knows. Everyone's worried it'll _work_ , worried that it _won't_ , but no one so much as Liam, because he feels like he's going to burst out of his skin, like it's just going to split and slough off his body, the way he has since they found out Theo was taken. It's only been hours and he feels like he's losing his _mind_.

" _Yes_ , alpha," Liam replies, spitting _alpha_ in the tone someone would say _mom_ , and trying to quell his mounting annoyance because _honestly_ , but all it garners is an admonishing look from Scott that could rival Jenna Geyer's. Liam would be impressed if he wasn't so impatient.

" _Liam_ ," Scott chastises, scrunching his eyes shut and rubbing his temples, evidently exhausted, and Liam starts to feel a little bad. "This is _important_. If you don't follow Deaton's instructions _exactly_ , it could be dangerous for the _both_ of us, and maybe even the rest of the pack. And these herbs only flower in the _week_ before the full moon, which means we only have _two_ tries worth."

" _Scott_ ," Liam echoes, in the exact same tone, "I _know_ ," and then, because he knows Scott is going to keep worrying otherwise, recites dutifully, the way he has _three times_ already: "Claws straight in at the first light of the moon, focus on Theo and _only Theo_ ," privately, Liam thinks, _that . . ._ really _won't be that difficult_ , but externally, he's still reeling off, "Stay centered, stay focused, don't get emotional," and _there_ lies the real challenge of the night, because Scott and Deaton made it _abundantly_ clear that if he didn't stay unexcitable enough to maintain the stability of the connection, it might collapse altogether, but Liam is _pretty_ sure that whatever he's about to see isn't going to be something he can _compartmentalize_ , because _Theo_ was taken by _hunters_ , and _god_ , _how the_ fuck _is going to pull this off_? Stay focused almost _directly_ translates to _"Stay anchored"_ but he hasn't seen his anchor in three fucking days, because he's somewhere out there, probably being violently tormented by vindictive hunters. Liam's practically choking on the preemptive dread that seems to be flooding his entire body, and he's so anxious that the shift is lurking _right_ underneath his skin, causing an uncomfortable itching sensation all over, but Liam tries to reign it in, because he's pretty sure that if he shifts _during_ , he'll actually break Scott's brain, and that's . . . Not ideal.

Scott's nodding along absently, mostly just paying attention to the changing light, but looking satisfied enough to where Liam feels like he can stop, shoulders slumping as he relaxes into the armchair, the slackness in his limbs completely belayed by his nervous racing heart.

"It's time," Scott announces, eyeing the dwindling golden rays that paint the windowsill. He pulls a Ziploc bag of vials out of his backpack, unzipping it and laying each glass vial carefully on the floor, seemingly in the order they're supposed to be mixed in. Everyone has stilled completely, abandoning their distractions to watch Scott pull out a proper mortar and pestle and begin uncorking vials, expressions betraying various levels of judgement, because somehow _all_ of them have experience in mixing magical herbs _except_ Liam.

( _"Can't Lydia do it?,"_ Scott had asked Deaton, as they stood around the examination table in his office, absolutely _littered_ with small potted plants and empty vials, _"Her second major_ is chemistry _, and she's always doing those,"_ he waves his hand vaguely, " _wolfsbane experiments. This,"_ he winces, but it seems mostly directed inward, " _This is too important to mess up."_ Deaton's already shaking his head, firmly, and decisively.

 _"It has to be the alpha_ ," he explains, _"It helps establish the connection. It’s a symbol of_ trust _, a key to the alpha's mind given to his or her beta._ " He snips carefully at a generically green plant. " _If it wasn't something that had to be done by the alpha themselves, it would make a non-consensual mind meld possible. But don't worry too much; the procedure is fairly rudimentary."_ The plants all honestly look the same to Liam and it _really_ doesn't help that all the labels are written in what appears to be Celtic runes, because Deaton is, once again, the most _extra_ person Liam knows. Deaton differentiates them with ease, calling out names absently as he takes cuttings and places them carefully into glass vials, sealing each with a stopper. " _Take note of the order_ ," Deaton intones, and Scott nods dutifully, pulling out his phone.

" _Mugwort,_ " Deaton says, placing the vial onto the metal examination table with a gentle _clink_ , " _for lunar magick, lucid dreaming, and psychic ability,"_ and even _Liam_ doesn't know how he _hears_ the ' _k'_ in _magick_ from Deaton's _verbal_ intonation but he thinks it might be a druid thing. " _Coltsfoot,"_ he continues, _clink_ , _"for divination, visions, and internal healing, Angelica," clink "for summoning strength, Horehound," clink "for mental clarity and dispelling illusion, Blue Vervain for astral travel and Vervain for second sight," clink clink "and,"_ he says, with a finality that lets Liam think _oh, thank god_ because Scott is looking sufficiently intimidated, and Liam is feeling worse and worse about this plan with every _clink_ of a vial, but clearly, he spoke, or rather _thought_ , too soon, because Deaton continues: " _Peppermint and Bearberry for psychic_ awareness _, Wormwood for psychic_ vision _, and Fennel Seed for psychic_ protection" _clink clink clink clink_ , and all the times Deaton has said _'psychic'_ is enough to give Liam a migraine while Scott seems to be having an aneurysm, staring at neat line-up of vials, looking completely daunted.

" _Right,"_ Scott says weakly, " _easy."_ )

Scott dumps them in, one at a time, confident and sure in his movements -- Liam's pretty sure that Scott's been reviewing his notes for _hours_ now -- and then mashes them carefully with the pestle, and Liam's anxiety mounts because, _okay, this is really happening_ , doesn't stop compounding in his gut, even as Scott dumps the smashed herbs onto the floor and molds the paste into their distinctive pack symbol -- the two circles that lie burned into Scott's arm and into Liam's consciousness -- before flicking the lighter on, and lighting the paste on fire. A strangled sound escapes Melissa, and Liam would be sympathetic for the scorch marks that this is probably going to cause, but it's taking most of his concentration to just breathe correctly.

When the paste has burned to ash, Scott scrapes the powdery blackened remains back into the mortar, places a spoon into the bowl, faces Liam solemnly before his expression cracks a bit, breaking into a small, sympathetic smile that Liam takes more comfort in than he's willing to admit. "Ready?" Scott asks, and Liam nods his affirmation with _much_ more confidence than he feels, grabbing the mortar out of Scott's hands and dumping the powder unceremoniously down his throat, _immediately_ fighting his need to gag and retch it all back up because _Jesus_. It coats the back of his tongue like some kind of demented pixie dust, and burns all the way down his esophagus, but Liam hasn't been able to taste much anyways since they found Theo's blood on the forest floor, so he bears it fairly well, _definitely_ better than he expected when Deaton first explained it to them.

"Okay," Liam says, with _conviction_ in his tone and ash in his mouth and adrenaline in his veins, says " _Let's do this,_ " before _immediately_ unsheathing his claws, and plunging them _deep_ into the base of Scott's neck.

For a second or two, there's nothing but hazy darkness.

( _"You're his alpha,"_ Deaton said pensively, facing Scott, "and _you_ ," he says, turning to Liam, " _are his anchor_ ," and Liam _freezes_ because, _what._

" _Wait, hold on,"_ Liam can't help but cut in, because Scott's just nodding along like nothing's wrong. " _That's not, uh."_ He stops. Tries again. " _That’s not really it. He's_ my _anchor, he doesn't need -- "_ Liam clears his throat, rubs his neck awkwardly, because _wow, explaining an unrequited attachment to his supernatural father and a chaotic neutral druid is not somewhere he ever envisioned himself to be, but._ " _It doesn't go both ways,"_ he finishes, only _slightly_ pathetic, _but_ Deaton gives him one of those calculating looks that makes Liam feel like he's a specimen being dissected on the examination table, and Scott just hisses, " _Liam,_ not now _,",_ turning back to Deaton with a firm, " _Yes, I_ know _, and I know the full moon is tomorrow, and I read about a myth in one of the journals from the Hale basement, about the Hartford true alpha, and how under the moon, a beta could maybe tap--"_

 _"--into the pack bonds of the alpha_ ," Deaton finishes, as a considering expression takes over his face. " _I'm familiar with the publication, but it may be just that. A myth,_ " he says, detachedly sympathetic, and then, thoughtfully, " _but you're right to deduce that it_ would _be much more stable if the betas being connected through the alpha's bonds were anchors in their own right, tied to each other without the pack bond. Maybe with the right herbs . . ._ " he trails off, eyeing a complicated-looking calendar on the wall that Liam doesn't have the mental strength to try and decipher. It has English dates on it, but also, like, astral projection maps. And, of course, Celtic runes. Always with the _fucking_ Celtic runes.

" _Okay_ ," Deaton says, and Scott lights up, before Deaton puts a halting hand up. " _But,"_ he prefaces, _"It's dangerous. There are lots of rules you'll have to follow. And, there's a chance that it may not even work, so try not to get your hopes up too much."_ )

And yet, against the advice of a medical professional, Liam _had_ indeed gotten his hopes up, and as his field of vision remains dark, his heart starts to sink. He looks down at himself, morbidly curious, and almost startles when he realizes he's _transparent_ , like some kind of _phantom_.

And then, his vision starts to clear, objects solidifying and the room coming into sharp focus, and Liam almost wishes he was back in the blank darkness.

Lying prostrated on a propped up metal surface, almost like Deaton's examination table, but angled forward so that Liam can see _everything_ , is _Theo_ , wrists and ankles wrapped in thick cuffs, bruises littering his bare torso, right cheekbone horribly swollen and discolored, and _two_ angry looking whip marks across his abdomen, and Liam notes, detachedly, the violent, protective surge of anger that rises deep within him, but he dutifully compartmentalizes it, the way he promised Deaton and Scott he would, and internally promises himself that he'll make someone _pay,_ later, as he realizes that there's _another_ person in the room.

Standing in front of Theo is a man holding a whip, and Liam has never wanted to strangle someone with their own weapon more than in this moment, when the phantom ringing in his ears quiets enough that he can finally tune into the conversation.

"--could do this _all damn night_ , Dunbar," the man -- the _monster_ \-- spits vitriolically, and Liam takes a reflexive, startled step back at _his_ name, because, _what_. But the man isn't even _facing_ Liam, eyes still fixed on _Theo_ , and . . . Can _anyone_ even _see_ Liam?

Theo laughs; a horrible, gasping, sardonic one that has Liam's insides twisting uncomfortably. "You're gonna have to try harder than that," he says, infuriatingly mocking like he always is, and Liam thinks, chastising, _why do you always have to provoke people_ , before _freezing_ , and realizing, _wait._

"They _told_ me that the McCall beta was too mouthy, but I didn't _quite_ believe them," the hunter says, smile sharp and vicious as a predator's, and Liam feels nauseous. "I'm not allowed to rough you up too bad, because you're really just here to reel in _Alpha_ McCall. _But_ ," he says, considering, and then casting a mock glance around the room. "We’re the only ones here, Dunbar," he smirks, and Liam thinks, _Oh,_ thinks, _Oh, god no_ , thinks _no, please, no, not like this_.

And then, the hunter raises his whip, cracks it _loudly_ and _violently_ against Theo's chest and Liam can't help the desperate, unbidden shout of Theo's name that spills from his lips in what can only be called a _wail_ , but Theo shows no signs of hearing him, and Liam feels the helplessness rise, quick and pervasive, constricting his throat as the hunter raises his whip, cracks it _twice_ in quick succession and Theo doesn’t even flinch, but a cry escapes Liam as he stumbles towards him, towards the glinting metal surface Theo's propped up on.

" _Theo_ ," he tries, tripping over his own feet to get to the front of the room. "Can you hear me?" But even as he asks, he can tell that Theo's completely deaf to Liam's pleas.

 _Look at me_ , Liam wills, with everything he has, _please_ , and _then_ , like he somehow _heard_ Liam's thoughts, even when he couldn't hear his voice, Theo looks sharply up, eyes locking _right_ with Liam's, and _that_ , _direct eye contact_ after two days of nothing and one day of complete and total panic, makes something sharp rise in Liam's gut, tangled and indecipherable but pervasive, and he's _drowning,_ he's _drowning_ in green, and all of a sudden it's _far too much_ , he feels like a recovering addict who has just relapsed, losing his _mind_ on his first fix _,_ and the last thing Liam sees is _another_ crack of the whip, before he's _thrown back_ violently, forcefully, and when he comes to, he's on the floor of the McCall living room, blinking spots out of his eyes, claws coated in blood.

" _Scott,_ " he says, strangled, clumsily scrambling to his feet and placing shaking hands on Scott's shoulders. He's still rubbing the blood off the back of his neck but Theo's wide eyes are burned into Liam's retinas like the afterimage of a lightbulb. " _Scott,_ " he repeats, desperation clear, " _Scott,_ you _have_ to send me back, I didn't have enough _time_."

And Liam's waiting for Scott to say, " _Okay, no worries_ ", to turn back around, but when Scott removes his hand from his neck to grip Liam's shoulders, his heart sinks. " _Liam,_ " Scott says softly, gentle, sympathetic, and Liam's eyes start to sting. "Look outside," he prompts quietly, and he _does_ , catching the sparse morning sunlight that's filtering through the blinds, and Liam _collapses_ into Scott with a sob that he can't contain, as hot, helpless tears pool in his eyes, and he hates himself, just a little bit, for it.

Scott catches him, like he always does, grips him tight, grounding, palm at the nape of his neck as Liam _heaves_ embarrassing, choking sobs into his shirt, feeling like he can't get enough air, and Scott is shushing him gently, murmuring something that Liam thinks might be comforting, but Liam's not having it, because he doesn't fucking _deserve_ comfort right now.

" _It's my fault_ ," Liam chokes out, barely coherent, " _It's all my fault,"_ but Scott just pulls him in tighter, hushes him, whispers firm and determined, "It's _not_ , of _course_ it's not," and Liam cries even _harder_ because Scott doesn't _get it_ , he doesn't _understand_ , and so Liam tells him as much.

"They think he's _me_ ," Liam manages, throat painfully hoarse, and Scott stills at that. "That's why they took him. That's why they _have_ him." And now he's getting loud, loud enough to wake Argent, Melissa, and Lydia, who are all passed out around the living room.

"They _what_?" Scott whispers, horrified, and Liam's chest pangs in agreement. " _How do you know?"_ And Liam explains, furious tears ceaselessly spilling, rehashes the taunting and whipping and " _Dunbar_ " and the moments up until Liam's fucking _feelings_ whisked him out of the vision, right as their eyes met, leaving Theo there to _rot_ , because apparently that's all Liam's good for these days.

"And he just _took it,_ " Liam says, laughing a bit, but it just comes out as another sob. "They called him _Dunbar_ and hit him and he didn't correct them, he just _took it_." And then another sobbing laugh escapes his throat, half-hysterical and physically painful. "Why wouldn't he say something?"

Scott looks sad and thoughtful and guilty and determined, but he doesn't reply, just drags Liam as tight as he can against himself, squeezes him so hard that Liam's bones creak, and Liam cries some more, right there on his alpha's shoulder, in the early light of morning, as the McCall living room's occupants gradually awaken, one after the other.

"What I don't understand," Liam says, voice barely above a whisper, because he feels like if he hears anything louder right now, he's going to come out of his skin, as he waits for the four chocolate chip Eggo's he forced into the two slots in the McCalls' ancient-looking toaster, "is how you didn't know he was taken, or" he rephrases, "how you didn't know he was _being tortured_ ," voice cracking. Scott looks pained, but Liam can't _not_ think about it. "What happened to _pack bonds_?" Liam spits, more violently than is probably fair, but he just _watched Theo be tortured in Liam's name_ , so Liam's way past what's fucking _fair_. "Or was that just a _lie_?"

" _What?_ " Scott blurts, absolutely scandalized, " _Of course_ it wasn't a _lie_ , why would you even _say_ that?" And then, a pause, where he seems to gather himself, before continuing, more gently, "the bond feels different for everyone. I don't know if it's because literally _none_ of us are the same species, or if it's because of their relationship with _me_ , or maybe if it's just how they deal with emotions." He takes a _long_ sip of his too-milky coffee. "Theo's bond has always been a little . . . Numb." Scott lets out a long, tired sigh, scratching at the stubble on his chin. "Like a limb that fell asleep. Honestly, I think it's because of how much he suppresses. But _sometimes_ , some things filter through -- things that slip past his walls -- and it's like pins and needles, and _then_ I can feel it. Even now, I can't feel his pain. He just seems . . ."

"What?" Liam prompts, desperate, "He just seems _, what_?"

"Determined," Scott says quietly, and Liam's heart skips a beat in his chest. " _Hey,_ " Scott grabs Liam's arm, abandoning his mug to look Liam straight in the eye. "Whatever you did, when you were there," Scott says, "it surprised him so much that I could feel the shock from _both_ of you. You _interacted_ with him. Do you know how rare that is? For shapeshifters to be able to _manifest_ for each other, even _with_ the anchor connection? Do you _understand_ how strong that connection has to be?" And Liam _didn't_ , so he thinks, _huh_ , even as he shrugs it off, looking drawn enough that Scott accepts the dismissal and they spend the rest of the meal in an exhausted kind of silence.

When Argent asks him if he remembers anything about the place, if they have any leads, all Liam can manage is a hoarse, "I didn't notice," and "I wasn't paying _attention_ ", the words tasting like bile in his mouth, and Argent looks the most sympathetic Liam's ever seen him, but that doesn't stop Liam from feeling completely and totally _useless_. He still feels like he's going to be sick as he collapses onto the bed in the guest room and falls into a restless sleep, the morning light creeping it's way across the room and the moon disappearing from the sky completely.

He dreams of helpless green eyes and a wolfsbane-coated whip.

\---

The next night, Liam's prepared.

He woke sometime in the late afternoon, feeling even more tired than when he went to sleep, but too wired to try for a couple more hours of rest, and he spends the rest of the evening talking himself through it.

 _This is for Theo_ , he thinks, _you're going to keep your mind clear, and you're going to pay attention to your surroundings, for Theo_.

He plans and he pep-talks himself and he mostly just gets in the way of the other people bustling around Scott's house, unsuccessfully trying to cross-reference a collection of maps with various agglomerated locations of hunter strongholds and traffic cameras in the area. Argent and Agent McCall have already come to blows nearly three times, Lydia has turned the kitchen into some kind of homemade laboratory, much to Melissa's chagrin, and Mason and Corey stopped by to eat takeout with Liam for dinner in the guest bedroom and calm his anxiety for a bit. It doesn't work very well, but he appreciates the effort, and dutifully accepts their forehead kiss and warm hug respectively, because he might not have Theo to anchor him, but Mason and Corey are practically the next best thing.

By the time they're in the living room again, the McCall house cleared out except for the usual suspects, the light of sunset rapidly dwindling, Scott asking, "Are you ready?" Liam can nod his affirmation with confidence he _does_ feel, because he's prepared for the absolute _worst,_ and this is important, so he can't mess this up. "It'll be stronger tonight," Scott reassures, hand squeezing Liam's shoulder, "your connection, because of the full moon. It'll tether you better."

 _This is for Theo_ , he thinks again, for good measure, right before his claws enter the back of Scott's neck again, _who's important, too important to mess this up,_ and for a split second, he hears Theo's voice from a couple weeks ago, when it was just the two of them who had stumbled upon a small hunters' cabin, fighting side-by-side, back-to-back, until Theo had taken a poisoned arrow to the shoulder, and stumbled backwards, backed into a corner, and Liam had to all but drag his half-wolfsbane-paralyzed body through the woods, even though he was exhausted himself.

Liam remembers his hands around his shoulder, forehead pressed to Liam's own, grounding. _Liam_ , Theo said, tone perfectly even, face so close Liam could feel his breath skate across his lips, making Liam lick them reflexively, eyes locked with Theo's own unrelenting gaze. _Liam, you've got this_ , he said, _I don't trust anyone, right? But I trust_ you _,_ breathing going ragged for a second, but his arms never leaving Liam's own. _I trust you with everything_ , Theo breathed, and Liam's breath hitched, unable to look away, even though he could hear the hunters gaining on them. He'd thought _God, what am I supposed to do with that_ , a desperately touched kind of awe, before gathering the last of his energy and taking the rest of Theo's weight, thinking _I've got you_ , thinking, _I've_ always _got you_.

He thinks of anchoring green eyes, wide and surprised and _alone_ , laid out vulnerable in front of a monster with a whip, Liam thinks, _he's too important_ , remembers, _I trust you with everything_ , thinks, _here goes nothing_ , before correcting himself, _here goes_ everything _,_ and then unceremoniously plunging his claws into the meat of Scott's neck, one last time.

Everything goes black.

When the room starts to clear, Liam pushes down the reflexive spike of fury and anxiety that rises from the familiar surroundings. They're in the same room as before, but the man with the whip is gone. Theo is still laid out on the table, far too many lashings across his chest and stomach. His ribs are starting to show a bit and his left arm is bent in a way that looks broken, his cheekbone still horribly swollen, and the dark bruises set in under his eyes makes Liam realize, in an absently horrified sort of way, _he hasn't slept_. _He hasn't slept since they took him_.

The image is almost too much, and Liam's stomach turns as a violently pervasive spike of nausea nearly bowls him over, nearly overwhelms the worry and anger and helplessness that keep bubbling up, despite Liam's best efforts to keep them under control, before he remembers, _your connection will be stronger tonight, because of the full moon_ , and it seems to be holding true, since right now, Liam has devolved into one big tangled mass of emotions, and he hasn't been spontaneously expelled from Scott's mind yet. The ringing in his ears hasn't abated yet, and he takes the time to actually take a look around.

There's a small window on the side of the room, completely uncovered, and it must be _freezing_ in here, in late November at night, there's no way Theo's not at least _mildly_ hypothermic and the thought sends a sympathetic shudder down Liam's spine, even though he can barely feel the heat of his own body. From this angle, Liam has a clear view of the full moon.

It's strange, the way the room is cast into light and shadow, the center of it coming sharply into focus, while the spaces around and behind the corners are vague and hazy, until Liam realizes, thoughts slow, _I'm tethered to Theo_ , realizes _, this is Theo's field of vision_ , and honestly, it's pretty impressive how much he managed to mentally map out just from the way the florescent light hits the corners of the room, because Liam's pretty sure all _he_ would be able to even see behind himself, let alone all the nooks and crannies of the place he's being fucking _tortured_ in, because it's not even a closed room or anything like that, it's just a _space_ , like they just found some junction between hallways that was big enough to be used as an apparent _torture_ chamber, and cuffed Theo up there, and Liam is suddenly, irrationally angry, so angry that he nearly doesn't see her, until he manages to notice that he's completely missed, yet again, the fact that there's _another person with them_.

Standing in front of Theo, hands on her hips, is none another than Tamara Monroe herself, and Liam has to _fight_ to control the shift, almost _loses it_ , before he focuses on Theo's breathing, fairly even despite the angry marks painting his body, and thinks _the sun, the moon, the truth_ , before it's almost manageable again. The ringing has stopped, and all that remains is Theo's breathing and Monroe's detachedly irritated voice, echoing in the concrete space:

"-- had to come see for myself. I wanted to _watch_ Scott McCall be _destroyed_." She stops pacing and Liam holds his breath. "I was wondering why no one seemed to be coming for you. No one has even made a _move_ to leave Beacon Hills, and I thought, why would they abandon the only bitten beta?" She laughs, high and cold, and it grates across Liam's skin, makes him feel cold down to his _bones_ even though he's not even there. Theo's expression remains impassive, but his heartbeat stutters, and Liam doesn't think he's ever felt this _helpless_ before. "But _you're_ no Liam Dunbar. Do you think they even noticed you're missing, _Theo_?" Monroe says his name sickeningly sweet, a tone that's so hateful and wrong that it should be a crime, and Liam wants _to vomit_ , before she laughs again, _chuckles_ really, and now Liam feels _hot all over_ , the numbness replaced by a violent, roiling kind of _rage_ , as Monroe continues, viciously, in the same calculating tone: "or," she muses, faux-thoughtful, "do you think they _decided_ not to come?" Monroe walks up to Theo, his eyes glassy but expression completely blank. Liam can hear his heart pounding away in his chest, and it takes _absolutely everything in him_ not to desperately run up to him, take his hand and look him in the eye and say, _don't listen to her, please, she's so, so_ wrong _, I promise_ , but he promised _himself_ that he would stay in control this time, to _find_ Theo, because he can't comfort him if he's dead, and so he stays put, his exposed claws buried in the meat of his palm. He doesn't bleed. He doesn't think he has any blood on this plane, but it still runs cold as he catches sight of the shiny new table propped up next to Theo, filled with neatly-lined up medical instruments.

"Do you," Monroe says, softly, like she's genuinely postulating, and then, slightly gleeful, "do you think they would _thank_ me? For cleaning up their mess? Taking the _trash_ out for them?" and at _that_ , Liam _can't,_ he just _can't_ , the anger and frustration and helplessness absolutely _boiling over_ as the shift breaks loose, clawing it's way up and out of his body. He hears himself _roar_ , makes to jump in Theo's direction, before everything goes black again.

This time, thankfully, he doesn't wake up in the McCall's living room. It's dark, and hazy, and he feels like he's floating, like he's completely detached from his corporeal form. He can’t tell how long it's been when he comes back to himself, but he can tell that he's lost some time.

"-- suggestions on _what_ to do with you. Rossler, the idiot, thought we should use you for information, but _what_ would they possibly tell you? You're not even in their _pack_ ," she _spits_ the word, like it tastes bad in her mouth, and Theo's heart rate _spikes_ so sharply that Liam feels his own _clench_ sympathetically. His face is still that blank, porcelain mask, and it makes Liam _ache_. "All you're good for," Monroe continues, unaffected, "all you _are_ , to _us_ , and _everyone else_ ," she smiles, sharp and mean, and Liam is _filled_ with an inexplicable type of dread, before she continues: "is an _experiment_."

And Liam's frozen, absolutely _stock-still_ , and he can't _breathe_ , he doesn't need to breathe, not while he's barely more than a manifestation, but now he _can't_ and that seems important. He can't get enough air into his lungs and he feels like he's choking, _choking_ on panic and desperation and _blood_ as Monroe makes a neat incision straight down Theo's torso, and Liam is absolutely freaking the _fuck_ out, flashing in and out of consciousness as the room spins and spins and spontaneously sharpens and fades out. He hears snippets of Monroe's voice, clinically detached explanation interspersed with pauses of jarring silence, and Theo's panicked, stumbling heartbeat, as he starts to _beg_ , " _No, no, please, not again_ ," and Liam doesn't think he's ever felt so _useless_ in his life, screaming, _screaming_ , maybe so Theo will hear him, maybe so Monroe will stop, maybe so that _Liam won't_ be able to hear anymore, because he _can't take this any longer_ , and he thinks, if he were in his own body, by this point, he would be _sobbing_ , but he doesn't have any tears on this plane, and all it results in is a _persistent_ throbbing headache to amplify the hysteria flooding his veins.

_"--'ve been curious about this new kind of--"_

_"-- genetically modified by our scien--"_

_"--olfsbane, but even_ more _potent, you'll se--"_

 _"-- re just a chimera, but_ honestly, _there's not much of a diff--"_

 _"--anted to see the healing process_ myself _, from the_ inside _s--"_

And then Liam fades into darkness, absolute and complete.

This time, when he comes to, he almost doesn't realize he's back in his phantom body, because the lights are off. The only thing that alerts him to the fact that he's back is the weak, stumbling beat of Theo's heart, and _nothing_ , absolutely _nothing_ , not his own panic, nor the constraints of this lunar projection nonsense can stop him from stumbling to Theo's side, taking account of his injuries, and nearly _throwing up_ , even though he's pretty sure he _can't_ as a manifestation.

Theo's in the same position, but the table next to him looks like it's been _ravaged_ , covered in blood, tools disheveled, with most of them sitting at the bottom of a large tub of what appears to be disinfectant. The scalpels and forceps and scissors sitting at the bottom of the tub are coated in a thick layer of _something_ , black and purple with swirls of silver, until Liam realizes with a start, _that's Theo's blood_. _That's what she did to him._

And that's when he finally builds up the courage to actually take a look at Theo, and his stomach turns. Even by the low light of the moon, when the worst of it is shrouded in darkness, it's still awful to see. He's still propped up, cuffed to the table, but apparently Monroe didn't bother to suture him back up after her amateur surgery, because he's still cut open and Liam feels violently nauseous as he spots the instrument holding the flaps of Theo's torso open, organs completely exposed. Theo's pulse is thready and his lips are a little blue, and Liam can't help the small, horrified, _"God_ ," that escapes Liam in a whisper.

Theo's eyes _snap_ open to meet Liam's, and Liam almost forgets how to breathe.

" _Can you hear me?_ " Liam tries, voice cracking with desperation, and the corner of Theo's mouth twitches, before growing into a wide, abandoned smile. There's blood on his teeth, but Liam helplessly smiles back because he can't _not_ , not when Theo _looks_ at him like _that_ , as Liam's body _floods_ with relief, because _maybe_ there's a chance that this shitshow of a plan works after all.

" _Hey,_ " Theo slurs, voice raspy but still beaming like a loon, " _it's good to see you_."

Liam's heart skips and stutters embarrassingly at the sound of his voice, soaking it in with the thirst of a man who just got out of the desert, but he covers it up with a perfunctory, unnecessary throat-clearing. "You were _expecting_ me?"

Theo nods slowly, eyes glazed over like he's drugged. "'Course," he says, smiling, "was waiting."

"I don't understand," Liam says, because he _still doesn't get it_. Theo nods, like Liam needs the affirmation, probably because he's kind of delirious, but Liam ignores him, "You know where all the exits are. You know all the storage rooms in this place, and like, a _lot_ of the hallways. I know because _I_ can see them, and I can only see what you see." It was one of the things Liam caught while he was flashing in and out of Theo's torture chamber during his impromptu surgery; a glimpse at the rest of the warehouse, of which an impressive proportion was sharp and illuminated. "You're like, the _smartest_ person I know, and you have an escape route _planned out_. _Why haven't you tried to escape yet_? And they thought you were _me_. _Why didn't you correct them?_ " His voice finally cracks under the pressure of his misery, but Theo doesn't comment on it, just groans loudly and _thunk_ s his head back on the propped-up metal surface he's cuffed to.

"Y'r kinda dumb," Theo says, still slurring his words, and now Liam's starting to panic a little bit, that the hypothermia and blood loss and fucking _organ_ exposure will get to him before the pack will. "I d'n't ev'n know why I like you. Like," he wrinkles his nose, “ _yikes_.”

" _Theo_ ," Liam says, the desperation choking him up, because if he lets Theo pass out _now_ , just when Liam can finally _talk_ to him, he doesn't know how he's going to live with himself. But luckily, Theo seems to hear it, and his hazy vision sharpens, just a bit, focusing on Liam.

"Listen, stupid," Theo says, abrasive as ever, and Liam is so inordinately _relieved_ that he could _cry_ , because _there's the Theo he knows and lo--_ "'f I told them I wasn't you, they would jus' go after _you_. If I 'scaped, they would jus' go after _you_. Don't you get it?" Theo smiles _wide_ , "'m _being the bait_ ," and Liam's heart _stops_ the same way it did in that elevator all those months ago, because he can't think _anything_ past _god, you're so_ fucking _stupid, why do you_ always _have to do this to me_ , but Theo seems completely oblivious to his mounting rage, because he just frowns into the distance, furrowing his brows innocently and Liam would call it _adorable_ if he didn't have a direct line of sight to his liver. "'r at least I _was_ ," Theo says, sounding despondent, "Monroe f'gured out it was just _me._ 'nd _now_ , 'm too fucked up to 'scape, anyways" He startles suddenly, and looks Liam in the eye, worried, "you're gonna have to hide," he says, sounding panicked, "they're going to _come_ for you soon, 'cause they _know_ now."

"You're worried about _me?_ " Liam hisses, distraught, "I can see your _fucking kidney_ right now." A beat of silence, and then he can't help but ask, quieter, " _why do you only have one kidney?"_

"L'st the other," Theo whispers back.

"You fucking _what_?"

" _Lost it_ ," Theo says, louder and with more coherent consonant noises, like his diction was the reason that Liam was struggling to understand. "Incident of '09," he says, rolling his shoulders back like he's trying to get some circulation back in them. "D'n't know where it is now. Maybe Tijuana, but probably Bucharest. Or South Florida."

 _"What?_ " Liam wheezes, more hysterical than he would like, quickly losing his grip on his sanity, and on the thread of the conversation. "You know what? Never mind," Liam shakes himself a bit, "just fucking _never mind_ , we will _definitely_ talk about _that,_ later. Right now, you need to tell me everything you know about where you are. _Theo,_ " he tries, but Theo's eyes are distant, glazed over. Liam steps closer, as close has he can get, puts his hands up to Theo's head, cradling his face, thumbs brushing the peaks of Theo's cheekbones lightly, and he can feel the phantom warmth seep into his own body.

" _Theo,_ " he tries again, and this time Theo's eyes at least meet his. " _Baby,_ " Liam says, voice breaking painfully, "you _need_ to tell me where you _are_ , so we can _find_ you," and _now_ Theo's looking at him, _really_ looking at him, but he still looks a little off, his expression all wrong.

He smiles, eyebrows lifted in a placating expression, like he's _humoring_ Liam and Liam doesn't like _that_ at _all_. "Alright," Theo concedes, "Alright, fine. They took me on Saturday, early afternoon. I was by, uh," he clears his throat, averts his gaze, "by Tara's bridge, and they pulled me into a black SUV. We took a road right off the preserve, probably Marigold, and then got on what I _think_ was the I-20 about an hour later. I remember the license plate," he reels it off without even taking a second to remember it, "but they changed it. Twice. I could feel it. The wolfsbane they put in me fucked me up pretty bad for most of the ride here, but you know," he flicks his head, and Liam thinks that if his hands weren't cuffed, this would be where he would gesture vaguely, "Trained for this, and all that. Being conscious is a preference, not a necessity. We went north for a while and then west for longer, and drove for about eleven hours, so if I _had_ to say," he pauses, furrowing his brows, and Liam holds his breath, "I'd say I’m in Utah. _Maybe_ Idaho _, possibly_ Wyoming, but I'd put my money on Utah. North Utah."

And Liam thinks, _okay_ , thinks, _thank god, finally some progress_ , but his eyes go a little unfocused the further down Theo's body they travel, twisted gory mess on full display. Theo watches his gaze track down for a bit, before laughing a little. It sounds torn and ragged as the skin of his torso and Liam doesn't like the sound of it, concern forcing his eyes back up to Theo's face. "When she was cutting me open," Theo says, "felt like I was back there for a second. Back in Hell."

Liam's heart doesn't quite _stop_ beating, but it's a near thing. "What," he manages, voice hoarse, barely a whisper as he brushes his thumb across Theo's jawline, "what _happened_ down there?"

"It's _her_ heart," Theo shrugs, "she just took it back."

" _Tara_ ," Liam breathes, and Theo nods. "So she . . ."

"Ripped it out," he says, eyes going unfocused, "Tore it right out of my chest. Again, and again, and _again_. Lost count of how many times she chased me down that hospital hallway. Eventually I just," he let out a gust of air, shoulders slumping, "let her."

And Liam remembers, _"Sorry, I thought I was somewhere else for a second," "Where?" "A bad dream"_ , remembers Theo struggling to breathe the first time he went back to the hospital after he came back from underground, remembers _"What exactly did you think I was doing down there?" "I think you were_ rotting _down there. I also think whatever happened to you? You deserved it"_ , remembers the first and _last_ time Theo slept over, Liam and Theo taking up a couch each, Liam startled awake by the stench of _terror_ that had flooded the entire living room, Theo shaking, whimpering, breathing gone ragged and heart _racing_ , as he whispered, deathly quiet, heartbreakingly resigned, _"It's okay,_ y _ou don't have to stop."_ Liam shook him awake gently, and Theo's eyes didn't focus on him for another minute, before he _bolted_ , grabbing his jacket and waving Liam off with a quick, _"Thanks, this was fun,"_ before getting into his truck and _speeding_ out of the Geyers' driveway. He wouldn't meet Liam's eyes for a _week_ , and he never stayed over again.

 _"Oh my god,_ " Liam breathes, _horrified_ , and _then_ he remembers Theo's unconscious habit of pressing his hand to his sternum sometimes when he gets anxious, when he gets sad, when he gets _guilty_. He remembers _"Some of us actually have a fucking heart_ ," and the new and exciting implications of _that_ particular unintentional barb, and thinks that maybe he should never open his mouth ever again, when clearly all he knows is how to hurt the people he cares about, in the most _vicious_ fucking way possible. _My fault_ , Liam thinks, _this is all my fault_.

"'S okay," Theo says, words starting to slur together again. "Didn't feel like that for long. 'S easy to tell th' difference. It hurt a _lot_ more down there. _This_ ," he jerks his chin toward his split open torso, and Liam's nauseous all over again. " _This_ isn't that bad."

"I--" Liam manages, so _completely_ out of his depth, before realizing, " _She didn't give you any anesthetic."_

Theo snorted. "You think the Dread Doctors _did_?" He smiles, a bitter, sardonic, little thing, before his breathing goes a little ragged, a little labored. His pulse drops from _acceptable_ to _worrying_ , and Liam gradually begins his panic spiral once again. "Don't worry," he says, "reminds me of my childhood," and then _laughs_ , like the horrifying joke he made was actually _entertaining_ and Liam's stomach turns, yet again, because _Jesus_. "For what it's worth though, I'm glad I got to see you, _before_."

" _Before_ what?" Liam asks, bewildered. He can't smell Theo, or _anything_ , really, and it's starting to discomfit him, when all he wants to do is bury his nose into the warmth of Theo's neck and breathe him in. The wolf inside him claws impatiently, but Liam quiets it firmly.

" _You know_ ," Theo says, but Liam very evidently _doesn't_ , and Theo rolls his eyes, sighing. "Before I die."

" _Theodore Raeken,_ " Liam hisses, _absolutely fucking furious_ , the internal turmoil building and mounting inside, pressure increasing, just waiting to blow. "Don't you fucking _dare_. _You are not dying._ We'll _find you_." He presses his forehead to Theo's, even though Liam can't feel it. He hopes Theo can, with everything he has. He meets his eyes, firm and deliberate. " _I’ll find you."_ A promise. A _vow_.

"It's kind of depressing," Theo chuckles, "when my _own_ hallucination starts lying to me."

Liam's heart _drops_ as he pulls back, sits stone-cold in his stomach. He feels like he can't even speak, throat closing up quickly. He feels like he's being _strangled_. " _You,_ " he chokes out, " _You think I'm a hallucination?"_

Theo levels him with a _look_ , and then shrugs, one-shouldered, like he's so unbothered that he can't even make the effort to use both of them. Or maybe the hypothermia is finally kicking in and he's lost sensation in his left side. Liam swallows. "I haven't slept in _days_ ," Theo says, "I see a _lot_ of things that aren't there." And then, quieter, like he's revealing a secret, one he's kept written in a cipher, tucked underneath a flap deep inside his heart: " _It's happened before_.” A beat. ” _It happened last time."_

Liam can't _breathe_. " _Last time?"_ he whispers, disbelieving, " _You hallucinated_ me _the last time you thought you were going to--"_

Theo nods, quickly, just a quick jerk of his head. "Yeah," he replies, eyes starting to glaze over a bit, "You didn't talk then, though. And," he says, furrowing his brows, seemingly getting loopier with pain by the second, "you were happier. It was nice. You should smile more. Right now you just look _sad_." He leans forward, putting his forehead back to Liam's, licks his lips nervously, once, _twice_ , and Liam's heart stutters, clenching painfully in his chest. " _Would you,"_ Theo whispers, barely a breath of air, " _would you smile for me? Please?"_ His eyes are trained on Liam's mouth, wide and green and glassy and _hopeful_. " _Just once?"_

And Liam is _weak_ , _so fucking weak_ , has been for a long time now, and there isn't _much_ that he wouldn't do when Theo asks like _that_ , when Theo asks at _all, really_ , and so he musters up a smile, forcing the corners of his mouth higher, even when the tears prick in his eyes, and _well_ , _guess he_ can _cry here after all_ , and when Theo returns it, wide smile breaking out on his bruised face, satisfied and helpless and _beautiful_ and everything Liam has ever wanted in his life, it takes everything Liam has in him to keep the sob from escaping his throat. " _There it is_ ," Theo says, grinning and delirious, eyes still trained on his mouth, and Liam thinks that _this_ , _this is the moment his heart finally breaks into pieces_.

" _Baby,"_ Liam says, voice thick with emotion, eyes _burning_ , "baby, I'm _real_." He puts his hands back up to Theo's face, can't remember why he ever thought it was a good idea to ever let go, fingers ghosting across his high cheekbones, stubborn jawline, split bottom lip. "I'm _real,_ Theo, I _promise_." And then he catches sight of his own hand as his fingers brush across Theo's chin. It's much fainter than it was a couple minutes ago, and he thinks, _no_. He thinks, _no, wait, I'm not done._

"You're _not_ ," Theo says, small, resigned smile playing at the corner of his mouth as he pulls his head back a bit from Liam's and meets his eyes. "You're _not_ , but _it's okay_. Liam doesn’t do all this,"

"All _what_?" Liam asks, as his heart breaks rudely, right in his chest.

" _This_ ," Theo repeats, like _that's_ helpful. "He doesn't call me _baby_ and he doesn’t-- He doesn't think of me like that. He actually doesn't think much of me at all," Theo snorts.

" _What?_ " Liam hisses, _cries_ really, but. " _Why would you think that?"_

"He knows I'm gone," Theo notes, almost clinically, except his heartbeat stutters. "We see each other like, every other day. _He knows._ Which _means_ ," he says, leaning back against the metal eyes avoiding Liam's, "They all know." And Liam hears it, Theo's words in Argent's voice, sad and broken, all alone in his truck -- his _home_ \-- in the middle of the night, resigned, _"They already know_." and it makes his heart _pang_ even _more_ painfully than it did the first time. "But Monroe was telling the truth, earlier. She's not good at controlling her heartbeat. Never was. They're not coming. So they probably found the truck, if they bothered to look, and Scott said _'it's not worth it_ '" he lowers his voice, like he's doing a humorous impression instead of meticulously shredding Liam's heart, "and then Liam probably said, _'okay, sounds good_ '" in a _much_ higher voice, that Liam's kind of offended at, in a distant sort of way, while the forefront of his mind is _screaming_ , "because he's a respectful beta like that, and then they just went on with the rest of their Monroe plans. Which is fine, I'm pretty sure there's an important summit next week, and _God knows_ Scott _needs_ to prepare."

" _What?_ " he hisses again, completely out of his depth, but his voice is faint, like he's already fading, and he starts to panic. " _Theo, that's not-- Baby, we're com--"_

"For what it's worth," Theo says, eyes meeting Liam's, deliberate, and completely steamrolling over Liam's increasingly faint protests, "I'm sorry. I know I never said it, because I didn't think it would be _worth anything_ , but I am. For everything _before_ , and then some. And I _know_ you're not even _him,_ okay? I _know_ you're not _Liam_." And Liam's frozen to the spot, holding his breath, as Theo smiles, pained, eyes shiny. "You see," he whispers, " _I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together to make a creature that will do what I say or love me back._ "

And then his smile turns _sad_ , a _familiar_ kind of sad, one that makes Liam think of hot pie in warm diners and _'People like me don't get a happy ending. We don't get_ redemption arcs.' He smiles, sad and beautiful and impossible, Liam's desperate, helpless, barely audible " _Theo, NO, wait, please, I--"_ falling on deaf ears.

He meets Liam's eyes with a sad, _sad_ smile, eyes fluttering shut, and whispers, soft and resigned, "It was always going to end this way, sweetheart."

The room fades away, and so does Theo.

\---

Liam's back in the McCall's living room and it's quiet. He grabs a potted plant, just to be polite, right in time for him to expel the contents of his stomach into it, noting the interesting color detachedly, and Melissa rushes to his side, probably to pat his back or something equally comforting, but he shies away from the touch.

He can't bring himself to cry. He can't bring himself to do much of anything. He just sits, heart broken, head empty, mouth tasting like ash, and not from the herbs he just upended. For once in his life, he's not even angry, he's just. Numb.

For the first hour, Argent and Lydia eye him warily while Scott tries to coax him into eating something. He chews on chocolate chip waffles mechanically. They taste like ash and they settle in his stomach like a stone-cold weight, but he keeps chewing, because as long as there's something in his mouth, he doesn't have to answer anyone's questions. He cleans the living room, corking the vials and putting them back in the Ziploc, scrubbing absentmindedly at the faint scorch marks. When he finishes, he moves on to the kitchen, wiping down the counter and washing and drying dishes methodically, robotically, until Melissa catches sight of him and _makes_ him stop.

The second hour, Argent finally crosses the distance he's been carefully maintaining, and Liam manages a steady "North Utah", and then takes a deep, steadying breath, before telling him everything -- reeling off the license plate numbers he had burned into his brain in the cadence of Theo's voice, the make and model of the SUV, Marigold, north, west, eleven hours, _everything_ he could remember about the warehouse.

"Something industrial," he surmises, picking at the skin around his fingernails. "Late twentieth century."

"Did you hear anything outside? Cars, people, anything?" Argent asks, squinting at his laptop screen, and then at Liam, but Liam just shrugs.

"Don't think so," he replies, watching a droplet of blood well up from a spot where he pulled too much skin off, with a detached kind of interest. "But I wasn't really paying attention to _outside_."

Luckily, Scott comes over to grant him a reprieve, pulling Liam's hands apart and seemingly trying to take his pain, visibly confused when it doesn't work, which Liam privately thinks is appropriate, since Liam doesn't feel the pain of the cut anyways. Besides the gaping maw of his chest, everything else is numb. Unfeeling.

Scott keeps his firm grip on one of Liam's hands, even as he goes over to the other end of the table, where Argent is sitting, and puts his finger on the screen. "There," he says confidently, "Just outside Salt Lake."

Argent eyes him, curious, but expression surprisingly free of skepticism. "You're _sure_?" he asks, but it seems mostly obligatory. Scott nods firmly, turns to Liam with a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Could _feel it_ while Liam was there," he says, and then full-on _grins_. "Pack bonds had to be useful at least _once_ , right?"

He settles down in an empty chair between Liam and Argent, munches on some toast, keeping one hand firmly on Liam's wrist, and his attention on Argent's computer screen, as they start looking into the area. Liam's just on the verge of finally letting something other than blank numbness filter past his barriers and into his mind, as they round out the second hour.

That's when Scott blacks out.

Liam's quick reflexes, and their joined hands, is all that prevents Scott from getting shards of glass in his forehead as he suddenly face plants into the table, and Liam _flings_ his arm out protect Scott's head, before they're grabbing him, Liam hefting Scott's shoulders, while Argent takes his feet, lifting his body out of the kitchen and into the living room, and Melissa lets out a particularly colorful swear as she ushers them to the couch while asking Lydia to retrieve a cold compress from the bathroom.

Liam tries to take his pain, but finds none there to take, and so he settles for holding the compress in place, even when Melissa attempts to shoo him away. After shaking him and calling his name doesn't work, after several minutes, Liam decides that they need another approach. And besides, he's never tried to use the pack bonds on _purpose_ , before, so he thinks, _hard_ , at Scott, with everything he has left, _Scott, please wake up_ , and when _that_ doesn't work, he reaches for that feral consciousness deep within himself, winds his will around it, tight and steady, _yanks_ on it, with all the energy and conviction remaining in his drained body and Scott comes to with a ground-trembling _roar_ , _raring_ up on the couch, back arching, even as Liam and Argent try to hold him down, eyes flared a _brilliant_ , _violent_ red. It takes them an entire five minutes just to get him back down; pinned enough to be safe that he won't hurt himself or anyone else.

"What the _hell_ was _that_?" Liam asks, panting, when his hands have secured Scott's shoulders back to the couch using the entire weight of his body, and Scott's eyes are a safe, warm, brown again. Scott curls in on himself, clutching his head, a pained, sub-vocal _whine_ emanating from his throat.

" _He's not there anymore,_ " Scott whispers, absolutely horrified, and dread settles low in Liam's gut.

"What do you _mean_?" Liam asks, all but _growling_ , "What are you _talking about_?"

" _Theo_ ," Scott breathes, _miserable_ , " _I can't feel Theo in my head anymore."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:)
> 
> Tell me what you liked, what you didn't, all comments and feedback are welcomed! Feel free to find me on tumblr at [inabottlelikelightning](https://www.inabottlelikelightning.tumblr.com/) and scream


	5. i will love you if i never see you again, and i will love you if i see you everyday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I just want to say a HUGE thank you to everyone who has read, kudos'd, commented, etc. You guys are the absolute BEST, and I couldn't have done this without you. When I see your names pop up on the newest chapter, it honestly makes me feel like we actually meet once a week :DD idk it just makes me really happy so thanks!!
> 
> For some reason, I feel like 15 years has passed between last friday and today??? I almost got impatient and posted this last night but I am _so_ glad I didn't because I ended up adding a lot :)
> 
> Frankly, I am so, very embarassed by this chapter. It comes in at almost 16k?? Yes, you read that right. I have no self control, honestly. But, I hope you enjoy!! :DD love you guys

" _Get in the car, Liam._ "

"Just go _home_ , Lydia," Liam grumbles, picking up his walking pace, hunching his shoulders even _more_ and burying his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. It doesn't stop them from shaking, but.

"Absolutely _not_ ," Lydia says, matter-of-factly, as her shiny blue car continues its slow, persistent crawl next to him, refusing to leave him _be_ , Lydia in the drivers seat, one hand on the wheel, face turned to Liam, eyebrows raised, lips pursed expectantly. "If you think I would let you be _alone_ right now, you're crazier than _me_ that month I spent at Eichen." Her attempt at a joke falls fairly flat, but when Liam turns to frown at her, her expression softens. "I _know_ that your parents are gone for the week," she says, rolling her eyes when Liam's head whips to her, surprised, "and I _know_ you're just going to sit in your empty house, and brood. And I'm not going to let you." She huffs, "You're not going to win this argument, and we both know it. So save us the time, and just _get in the car, Liam_."

And Liam lets out a sigh, shoulders slumping, completely exhausted. He left his Mom's car at Scott's because he thought he might actually _crash_ if he tried to drive it right then, and he was determined to tough out his walk home _alone_ , to give himself some time to process, but Lydia's never _once_ lost an argument that she set her mind to, so he acquiesces, shrugging half-heartedly, before getting into the passenger side, laying his arms on the dashboard as soon as he's buckled up, and _burying_ his face in them, exhausted but still, somehow, anxious as _fuck_. The small, soft hand carding through his hair helps, if only a little, as Lydia picks up the speed and drives, a comfortable kind of silence settling between them.

The drive isn't long, not at all, but Liam feels like he drifts for a while, the familiar smell of her and the soothing rumble of the car settling his nerves a bit. She smells like vanilla and green apples, but also, like, bromothymol sulfone phthalein, which he only knows the exact smell of because Theo makes it a _point_ to always tell him what they've been working with when he returns from _science-time with Lydia_ \-- where they do _god knows what_ in Lydia's rumored basement laboratory -- in the hopes that it might raise Liam's chemistry grade. It hasn't worked so far, but Liam appreciates the sentiment all the same.

And _that_ , just _remembering him_ , sends a spike of misery and _grief_ so sharp and piercing through Liam's sternum that he has to sit completely still, curling in on himself even harder, until he can catch his breath again. _God_ , Liam thinks, _god, Theo_.

By the time they stop, he _does_ feel marginally better than when he was alone with his thoughts, kicking rocks angrily as he walked on the sidewalk of the McCall's street, even if he doesn't plan on admitting it, and he's turning to thank Lydia for the ride, when he catches sight of where they've stopped.

"This isn't my street," he realizes, casting a glance down the road.

"No," Lydia agrees, sounding amused. It makes Liam frown. She flicks her head toward the house they've stopped in front of, the quirk of her mouth reassuring. "C'mon," she prompts, and Liam listens to her, getting out of the car, because that's what one usually does when Lydia Martin gives them a direct order.

He can't help but ask a bewildered "What are we doing here?" as he walks around the car and steps onto the sidewalk.

She links an elbow through his, all but _dragging_ him forward. "Coping."

The house is hers, as he comes to realize by the scent; it smells like her, or maybe she smells like _it_ , the scent vaguely tangled with all the others she emanates, settled into her skin. Maybe both. Maybe we change our homes just as much as they change us.

He looks around, can't help his curiosity, because even after all these years with the pack, he doesn't think he's ever been to Lydia's. He lets his mind wander, eyeing the baby pictures and frankly, _alarming_ number of trophies on the mantle, as Lydia walks into what's presumably the kitchen, the sound of a cabinet opening and glasses clinking together, as she roots through some cupboard, reverberating across the walls of the generous space, before he startles suddenly, _realizing_ , "Where's your _mom_?" trying _very_ deliberately to keep his tone neutral, and not like he would one-hundred percent make a _run_ for it if he caught sight of Principal Martin on his Thanksgiving Break.

" _Out,"_ she replies, unimpressed, craning her head around the pillar that separates the living room and kitchen apparently _just_ so that he could catch sight of her narrowed, judgmental eyes and sharply quirked brow. "Some week-long educator's conference." And Liam lets out an inward sigh of relief, before giving in to his curiosity and joining Lydia in the kitchen.

On the kitchen island lies a vaguely-expired looking packet of Swiss Miss and a bottle of what appears to be vodka. Lydia's leaning against the cupboards, one hand on the countertop, the other clutching her phone as she taps away at it with a single thumb at a fairly impressive speed. She's focused on her screen, but looks up when Liam enters. Lydia grabs the vodka bottle by the neck, wiggles it at him. "It's vanilla," she says. "It's supposed to go well with the hot chocolate."

It draws a small, wry smile from him. "Coping?"

"Coping," she assures, eyes catching on her phone again as it vibrates with a notification.

"You _do_ know I can't get drunk, right?" he asks. She returns his innocent inquiry with the _meanest_ , most horribly judgmental look _anyone_ has given him, _ever_ , and he spends a significant amount of time with _Theo_ , so. And _there_ , _another_ spike of pain, vicious and _twisting_ , tearing through his body and constricting his lungs, even as he struggles to remain upright and unaffected.

"Yes, Liam," she says, slowly, like she's talking to a small, particularly stupid child. "Thank you, I _am_ , in fact aware. Wasn't accepted to MIT for my pretty face."

" _Okay_ ," Liam relents, raising his arms in mock-surrender as the pain slowly fades, " _alright_ , I just meant, like, the booze won't _work_ on me, if _that’s_ what you were going for."

"Not exactly," Lydia replies, tone much softer. "But me and -- " she cuts herself off, clearing her throat in a clear _ploy_ , uncomfortable in a way Liam has _never_ seen her, and so he meets her eyes. " _Well_ ," she continues, seemingly unaffected, but Liam can tell by the false brightness in her voice, the slight dimness in her eyes, even when her hands remain steady as she roots through a cupboard of pots, deftly avoiding Liam's eyes , eventually deciding on a small one, before rising from her crouch and placing it onto the unlit stovetop. " _Well_ , the low heat of vaporization of alcohol, makes it a fairly reliable solute for wolfsbane, which _does_ affect you."

And Liam hears it, hears _his_ name where Lydia so obviously omitted it, because he's heard that phrase a _thousand_ times before: in the pack group chat; over excited facetime calls from a dingy, clumsily repurposed basement; in Deaton's office with a series of test strips, beakers, and report sheets scattered across the examination table; Lydia's hair piled up on top of her head in a messy bun, wired and frazzled, so clearly high on an adrenaline rush, Theo grinning, proud and triumphant next to her, goggle marks on his forehead that Liam _refused_ to find endearing, matching _concerning_ scorch marks on their stained, latex gloves -- " _Me and Theo discovered_ . . . " and it's not like the omission _helps_ , because Liam can hear it as well as if she had _screamed_ it, but he appreciates the effort, and so he doesn't say anything, just covers up the reflexive _clench_ of his aching, tired, heart with a faux-considering expression.

"So," he realizes, "you're gonna get me drunk on _wolfsbane_."

"Got it in one," Lydia says, smiling. "I just texted Kira," she waves the phone in her hand demonstratively, "she's bringing the red aconite."

 _"Red?"_ Liam frowns.

"The one she uses for _pranks_ ," she explains, rolling her eyes in a way that still seems inexplicably fond, and Liam almost gets an instinctive migraine, just from the _mention_ of Kira's _pranks_ , because while pre-Skinwalker Kira was kind of playful, post-Skinwalker Kira is a goddamn _menace_. Apparently, part of embracing one's _inner trickster spirit_ is playing horrible practical jokes on everyone. Or maybe she's just fucking with them when she uses the Skinwalker training as a justification, because that’s the kind of person she is these days. Honestly, her and Malia _deserve_ each other. "So, it's the least lethal strain of aconite," Lydia explains Liam slowly, eyeing him like he's being especially stupid today, just to spite her, apparently misreading Liam's sudden, vigorous temple-rubbing as him trying to stimulate his brain cells instead of trying to _rub_ the memory out of his head of him coming down to his kitchen for a midnight snack, rooting through the pantry for something worthwhile, before emerging triumphant with Oreos, and biting into one of them, only to be _violently and brutally assaulted in his own home_ by the sharp, unmistakable burn of _toothpaste_. He found five more large packs of Oreos in the pantry, after thirty more minutes of searching, only to find that each and every of them, almost _300 fucking cookies_ , with the cream removed, the _ambrosia gone_ , heinously replaced by a factory-neat layer of fucking _toothpaste._ Liam had gone to Kira's, right then in the middle of the night, pounding on the door loudly before marching straight into their living room, ignoring Malia's threatening growl, commandeering their couch, and eating _every single one_ of the cookies right in front of Kira _and_ the infuriatingly amused smile playing around her mouth, out of _pure spite_.

He had to go get his stomach pumped a couple hours later, but. _Worth it_. Kind of. Kira took a picture of him passed out in the hospital, mouth still covered in Oreo crumbs, and had it framed in the Tate-Yukimura household, right above the mantle. And made it her phone wallpaper. And her Facebook profile picture.

("That," Theo said, recovering from his bout of uncharacteristic speechlessness as he lounges in the chair next to Liam's hospital bed, almost lazily, trashy magazine spread across his lap. "That's the _stupidest_ fucking thing I've ever heard in my _life_. You _what_?" He shakes his head. "No," he says, "you know what? This checks out. Completely in-character. I believe you, because you _would_." And Liam bristles for a bit, before Theo shakes his head again, drops it into his hands, and _laughs_ , loud and uninhibited. It makes Liam's stomach flip, and his heart do something inadvisable, and _obvious_ , since he's still hooked up to a goddamn _heart rate monitor_. The arrhythmic beeping catches Theo's attention, and Liam winces.

"So, _that's_ what baking soda does when it passes through your fuckin' heart," he says, still grinning.

" _Yeah_ ," Liam says, unconvincing, even to himself, because his voice is all weird and strangled. "Why'd you come, anyways?" he asks, sitting up, "Wait, how'd you even _know_ I was here?"

Theo shoots him a horribly exasperated look, says "You know, it's a good thing you're pretty," and completely steamrolls over Liam's gleeful, " _You think I'm pretty?"_ with, "but I think you should definitely cool it a little with the dangerous chemical ingestion, because really, your brain cells are _already_ limited edition," and ignoring Liam's affronted exclamation, leaning over to flick him on the temple. Liam doesn't flinch away from it, actually kind of shamelessly leans _into_ it, because Theo's fingers feel so, very nice on his head. Theo's hand lingers for a second, indecisively, before he sets his jaw and skates his hand down Liam's face, before slowly, _deliberately_ , tucking a loose piece of hair behind Liam's ear, knocking an embarrassing shudder loose from Liam's lungs, his eyes _locked_ on Theo's as the heart rate monitor goes _batshit_ in the corner, but neither of them pay it any attention, Liam _can't_ because Theo's eyes are _so very_ green as they bore into Liam's, and Liam feels like he's _burning_ , like he can't _breathe_ , which is a shame because Theo smells _good_ , _so fucking good_ , his scent making Liam's head spin, half intoxicated, before a nurse _bursts_ into the room, eyes frantically scanning, taking everything in, and narrowing her eyes _very_ judgmentally as she presses a button on the device in her hands, speaks into it, crystal-clear, " _False alarm, kill the Code Blue warning_ ," before inching out of the room, painfully slowly, and Liam's a doctor's son, okay? But _Theo_ isn't (and the Dread Doctors don't count, because they probably didn't use euphemisms like _Code Blue)_ , and so Liam _prays_ to every deity he's ever heard of that he Theo doesn't enough about hospital codes to deduce that his gentle fingers on the sensitive shell of Liam's ear half sent him into cardiac arrest.

"No more toothpaste," Liam concedes, and Theo drops his fingers and snorts unattractively, shaking his head.

"You have a terrible memory," Theo grumbles, scrubbing his hand across his jaw. Liam doesn't like when he does that while he has stubble. It's . . . Distracting.

" _Yeah_ ," Liam replies absentmindedly, still eyeing Theo's jawline, before shaking himself a bit and actually tuning into the conversation. "Wait, _what_?"

"I wonder how many hospital visits it's going to take," Theo says, tapping his chin in mock-thought, because he's fucking _mean_ , before narrowing his eyes, "for you to remember that I'm your _goddamn emergency contact_."

"Oh," Liam says, because he genuinely _forgot_ all those times in the past, forgot to question _why_ Theo was there, lounging by his bed, with his stupid squinty, judgmental eyes, and exasperated looks, and intrusively prying, personal questions like " _How did you even_ find _a possum? And_ why _would it attack you out of nowhere? It wasn't rabid, Liam, I know what rabies looks like, and you might_ seem _like you have a viral infection that makes you feral, but you don't. Did you provoke it? You fucking provoked a possum in an alley, didn't you? And if you tell me that it's the_ exact same _possum from the alley behind Sinema -- the weird looking one that you almost tried to_ fight _last month, that I_ specifically _told you to leave alone -- I swear to God I'm going to kill you. I'm going to strangle you dead, right here, with my bare hands, and I'll get away with it too, because I'll make my lawyer -- who'll be_ Mason _, because he agrees with me, by the way -- use the insanity defense, because your idiotic fucking possum shenanigans, will genuinely have made me lose my grip on sanity, and the only time you'll see me again is when my asylum lets us out on nature walks, or whatever, and I make a brief, unnoticed escape to, like, urinate on your grave, or something. Is that what you want, Dunbar? Is it?"_

Liam remembers getting his parents removed from the list shortly after he turned eighteen, because knowing that your son got into life-threatening situations for the greater good was one thing, but _knowing_ was something completely different, and they already worry _far_ too much about him to get a call every time he does something dangerous enough that he ends up here. Scott wasn't even _in_ Beacon Hills anymore since he enrolled at Davis. And, Liam doesn't _really_ want to get Mason involved, since Liam's hospital visits are almost directly correlated with something dangerous being after him, and even though Mason _knows_ now, part of Liam is _always_ going to be trying to keep him out of harm's way, so at least he can rest assured that if whatever's after him tries to finish the job at the hospital, Mason will be somewhere safe. Which left Theo.

And he _did_ forget; he forgot that some nurse _called_ Theo every time Liam ended up in the hospital, because it just seemed so _natural_ , him sitting by Liam, feet propped up on the bed, cracking rude jokes that Liam has to pretend not to find funny. It just felt like they were hanging out, like they've spent so much time doing. _Something to be said_ , Liam thinks, _about someone who can make you_ forget _that you're in a hospital_.

"Right," Liam says, when he realizes that he let the silence go on for a little too long. "But, like, they told you what I was in for, right? That it wasn't serious?"

Theo sets his jaw mulishly and furrows his brows, avoiding Liam's eyes. "They told me you were having your stomach pumped," he says carefully.

"I would've been _fine_ ," Liam counters, not unkindly.

"Yes, _well_ ," Theo snaps, eyes blazing, and shoulders set in a line tense enough to _snap_ , the muscle in his jaw flexing in a way Liam probably shouldn't find appealing, "the _last_ time you told me you were _fine_ , you had _two bullet holes_ in your thigh, so _excuse me if I don't take your goddamn word for it._ Or the hospital's."

" _Oh my god,"_ Liam whispers, unable to keep the _glee_ out of his voice, " _Theodore Raeken_ ," he bats his eyelashes.

" _Stop it_ ," Theo hisses, "Stop it _right fucking now_ , you're about to say something _dumb,_ I can _tell_ , _stop_ making that fucking _face_ \--"

Liam ignores him, like only someone who has _true experience_ dealing with Theo can, makes his eyes wide and mocking and guileless. He coos, in a tone of voice that he _knows_ makes Theo extra stabby, "Were you _worried about me?_ "

Theo, to Liam's pleasant surprise, does _not_ actually stab him. Granted, it's not like there are any sharp tools readily available in the hospital room, but Theo's resourceful. He could probably kill a man with like, a clipboard. Liam eyes the clipboard at the foot of his bed warily, eyes flicking between it and Theo like he's watching a tennis game, because his vast and impressive experience has taught him that it's best to be prepared for anything.

Theo, to his credit, just rolls his eyes, but Liam can see the corner of his mouth twitching, helpless, before Theo swats him with his rolled up magazine, making Liam yelp. Theo face-plants onto the hospital bed, groaning loudly.

"Don't know why I _would_ be," he grumbles. "You're a menace to society."

And Liam can't help the bright, giddy laugh that bubbles up from deep inside him, as he sinks his palm into the soft hair on the back of Theo's head, and something warm unfurls inside his chest.)

"Oh, _honey_ ," Lydia breathes, and Liam startles as he comes back to himself, because she's _much_ closer than she was just a second ago. She brushes her thumb over his cheek gently, and Liam almost startles again when her hand comes away wet. He swipes at his own face, scrubbing, surprised at just how much _moisture_ there is when he realizes, with a jolt, _he's crying_. He's _been_ crying, for a while, apparently, going by how _slimy_ his face is, and he wipes at it with the front of his hoodie, averting his gaze, because he _can't_ with whatever is in Lydia's eyes right now -- the sympathy, the _pity_ , the _understanding_ , whatever. He just _can't_. So, it's a welcome surprise when the doorbell rings.

Lydia's eyes flick to the door. She says, "That's probably Kira," and moves to approach it, but Liam stops her with a firm, " _No_ , _don't worry, I'll get it_ ," and waves her back to the pot of milk on the stove that's starting to bubble.

Apparently _knowing_ that Kira's going to be on the other end of the door, and actually _seeing_ her -- leaning against the brick, bag of wolfsbane in her hands, sympathetic smile on her face -- are two _very_ different things, because Liam _never_ could've predicted _this_ ; this sharp, horrible, _desperate_ wave of rage that crashes through him, violent, destructive, because he can _hear her_ , voice clinically detached but coldly determined all the same: " _The Skinwalkers have a message for you, Theo. Your sister wants to see you."_

And he sees Theo, bloody and convinced that he's all alone in the world, whispering in the darkness, "It's _her_ heart. She just took it back," like it was _nothing_ , like _he_ was _nothing_ , and it's _everything together_ \-- " _Being the bait"_ and _"I trust you with everything"_ and " _People like me don't get a happy ending"_ and _"Some of us actually have a fucking heart"_ and " _Liam doesn't think much of me at all_ " and "All you're _good for_ , all you _are_ , to _us_ and to _everyone else_ , is an _experiment_ " and _"They already know_ " and " _It was always going to end this way_ " -- and all at once, it's too much, and it bubbles up, spilling out of him in a semi-controlled explosion, a pot boiling over, and just like that, he has Kira pinned against the wall by her throat, growl emanating from somewhere deep and primal within him, as he hisses, " _You,"_ and it spews out of his mouth with _such vitriol_ , that it almost burns his lips on the way out, because, " _you did this. You_ put Theo in the _ground_. Do you _know_ what happened to him down _there_?" A growl is pulled from his throat, helpless and feral, "What _she_ did to him?"

" _You need to calm down,"_ Kira says, eyes narrowed, but voice even, even as Liam tightens his hand around her throat. She shouldn't be able to breathe, let alone maintain an even tone, and distantly, Liam registers that he may have made some kind of critical error. " _Put me down_ ," she says carefully, slowly, "and we can _talk_."

Lydia's eyeing them from the kitchen warily, but not making a move to intervene, which Liam took as a good thing a couple seconds ago, but he's starting to reconsider, because she evidently sees a clear victor in this fight, and he has a sinking feeling it's not him. And it's becoming rapidly evident that the most reasonable thing he can do right now, is to put Kira down, apologize, and have that conversation that she's willing to grant him, except.

_Except._

Except Liam just watched Theo be _tortured_ , watched him be _cut open_ like he was already a cadaver in a morgue. And Liam's _smelled_ the fear, _seen_ the flashbacks, _heard_ the nightmares. He knows the shapes and placements of the scars Hell left on Theo, even before he knew _what_ happened down there. And now Theo's somewhere in goddamn Utah, dead for all he knows, taken because they thought he was _Liam_ , and all but _abandoned_ because _Liam_ thought it was a good idea to give him _space_ , so maybe, just _maybe_ , Liam's done being reasonable. Because Liam can't do _anything_ for him right now -- and he remembers the helplessness, desperation, sympathetic _pain_ that wound around his heart, _clenching_ and _clenching_ and _clenching_ as he could do nothing but stand and _watch_ Theo be torn open by a monster with a scalpel -- but _this_? _This_ he can do.

He _tightens_ his hand around Kira's throat, something primal within him _howling_ in victory when she starts to slacken in his grip, but _then_ , _her_ eyes flash -- a playful, potent gold -- and she _swings_ a leg up and around, thigh pressing down on his shoulder, and before he can find a way to untangle himself, her leg is wrapped around his neck, heel finding purchase in the hollow of his throat, and she swings them _both_ down, and they hit the pavement _hard_ , however, _she_ dispels the momentum in a graceful somersault, while Liam ends up face-down on the concrete.

Liam checks, briefly, that all teeth are still in his mouth -- a reflex borne of _years_ of getting into brutal fights -- and when he verifies that they _are_ , no chips or breaks, he retrieves his dignity off the smooth pavement of the Martin's driveway, and scrambles to his feet, completely ignoring Kira's proffered hand. He takes a steadying breath, squares his shoulders, braced for a fight, because he's not sure exactly _how_ a fox spirit with questionable morals would react to being attacked by an angry _wolf_ , seemingly sans-provocation, but if he's about to be slaughtered, he would like to go down swinging.

Kira eyes the tense line of his shoulders disbelievingly. "Will you _stop_ that?" she says, gentle, despite the annoyance in her tone. "I'm not going to _fight_ you, Liam, _oh my God_." He keeps his body tensed, ready, because, after all, _trickster spirit_ , but Kira rolls her eyes, makes her way to the doorway of her house, stepping one foot inside, before turning back to Liam, prompting, brow quirked, clearly waiting for him to follow. "Come on," she says, fiddling with the doorknob a bit, restless, and Liam sees just a bit of the old Kira -- averting her eyes, nervous and clumsy with herself -- superimposed upon this new one, before she flashes her eyes _again_ , injects a bit of steel, or at least a bit of _something_ , maybe even something _supernatural_ in her tone, "I _said_ , to come inside." The gold of her irises flicker dangerously, a flame threatening to tip into inferno territory. " _I'm not going to repeat myself._ "

And so, Liam acquiesces, because despite his recent actions, he does not, in fact, have a death wish. He follows her into the living room, where she takes a seat on the couch, legs crossed politely. Lydia has started mixing the Swiss Miss into the pot, stirring slowly, trying _very_ hard to seem like she's not eavesdropping. Liam stays upright, stays braced.

"First of all," Kira says, tone cold. Her limbs are relaxed on the couch, but it's the slack, dangerous laziness of a predator, eyes calculating, "it's not really any of your business. _No,_ " she says, sharp, cutting off the litany of _furious_ protests that Liam is clearly about to make. "I don't care what _you_ are to _him_ , and I don't care what _he_ is to _you_. Sending him there, the decision _and_ the consequences of it, is between me and _him_." She sighs, a long, gusty one that pitches her entire body forward, as she slumps her body, for _real_ this time, a dark wisp of hair falling into her eyes. "And we've talked about it already," she says, and _that_ startles Liam into relaxing his own limbs, disbelief knocking the wariness out of his tightly-wound frame.

" _Really?_ " Liam says, trying to keep the _immense_ skepticism out of his voice -- generously and desperately ignoring the implications of _what you are to_ him and _what he is to_ you -- because he's not _trying_ to disrespect her, but he thinks he knows Theo better than, well, _anyone_ really, and Theo would _never_ do something as revealing as _talk_.

"We _do_ talk, you know," she says, looking almost amused. "It's not like we just play Go in _silence_. And besides," she says, laying the bag of wolfsbane on the coffee table, smoothing the creases out carefully, and folding it, matching up each corner methodically before cementing a new crease in with the edge of her thumb, "he said he didn't blame me." She unfolds it, and then refolds it, diagonally this time, before unfolding it _again_ , and smoothing the creases back out, methodically, mechanically, _nervously_. "He said he _understood_."

"He also _understood_ when he thought we were letting him be homeless on _purpose_ as a goddamn _punishment_ ," Liam hisses, breath catching in his throat. "He doesn't get a _fucking vote_."

"And then _I said_ ," Kira replies, louder, clearly ignoring Liam, "I _said_ ," she replies, throat sounding a little thick, a _lot_ less cold than a couple seconds ago, which rids Liam _completely_ of the vestiges of anger that were still lurking around his ragged edges, "that I was sorry." Her hands finally still, abandoning the messily-creased Ziploc on the coffee table for her own lap, clasping tightly together. "I wasn't really myself when I put him in the ground. I was mostly _fox_ by that point, _very_ little human, and everything seemed much more black-and-white as a spirit." She quirks a small, sad smile, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "It's the human part that complicates things. Meeting him again, getting to _know_ him, becoming his _friend_ , his _pack_. Becoming a _kitsune_ instead of just a person who's sometimes possessed by a lawless fox spirit," she smiles, wry, "It really opens up the spectrum of gray."

"Did he tell you what _happened_ down there?" he can't help but ask, whispered, throat closing up and something sharp and painful rising in his chest. " _Did he tell you that--"_

" _No_ ," Kira says, alarmed, whipping a hand up to stop Liam in his tracks. She frowns, admonishing. "And _you shouldn't_ either. What happened down there was _incredibly_ personal." She drops her eyes to her clasped hands. A couple moments of silence pass, as Kira appears to gather her words. Liam waits.

"Imagine,” Kira says finally, voice dropped so low that it’s nearly inaudible, or it would be, without Liam’s hearing, “your deepest, most horrible regret," she whispers, "buried _deep_ , so _deep_ that not even _you're_ aware of it, something that _plagues_ your _soul_. Imagine it haunting you, totally and completely, in a persistent, endless, _cycle_ , no escape in sight." She shakes her head, a disbelief and horror warring visibly on her face, as her vision goes unfocused. Liam feels nauseous, stomach turning and pressure mounting behind his eyes, and he can't even tune into the soothing sounds of Lydia's spoon clinking against the edge of the pot, because she really _has_ abandoned them, apparently deciding to avoid eavesdropping after all. "That's all the Skinwalkers would tell me about the prison world I trapped him in," Kira says. "Somewhere in _Bardo,_ between life and death. They said that was all I needed to know." Her eyes flick up to Liam's, head tilting, expression mildly considering. "Honestly," she says, "I'm surprised he told _you_."

And Liam considers being offended for a split-second, because _hey, Theo actually_ does _tell him things, apparently contrary to popular opinion_ , but quickly dismisses it, because frankly, _Liam_ would be surprised if Theo told him _this_ of his own volition. "To be fair," Liam winces, "he only told me because he thought I was a hallucination." A beat. "And that he was dying."

" _Jesus_ ," Kira murmurs, sympathetically horrified, and Liam _appreciates_ it, really, he does.

"Do you regret it?" Liam asks, and then _he_ regrets the _question_ , almost _immediately_ after he posits it, because he doesn't think he's ready for the answer.

"I'm not sure," Kira says carefully, brows drawn together. "I'm _sorry_ , because I don't think _anyone_ should have to go through _that_ , but regret?" Her brows draw together tighter, higher, a firm wrinkle in her face. "Regret is different. For myself? Maybe. It would be nice not to have someone's worst fears on my conscience." She smiles, a little sardonically. Liam has to look away. "But for _him_ , I'm . . . More conflicted. For what it's worth," she says, "I don't think _he_ regrets it." She meets his eyes, deliberate and assessing, like she's making sure that Liam's not going to jump into another violent fit, which he _doesn't_ , but frankly, it's a near thing. "I think," she says, "that he likes the person who came out of the Skinwalker prison much more than the one who went in. I think that you two wouldn't _\-- couldn't --_ be," she pauses, pointedly, " _whatever you are_ ," and Liam doesn't flush, he _doesn't_ , "without him going through that first. And," she says, drawing her knees up by her chest, and wrapping her arms tightly around them, "I don't think he would give up _any_ of that. I don't think he could bring himself to ever regret it."

" _The nightmares_ ," Liam tries, desperately, "the _fear_ , the _anxiety_ , the _hallucinations_." He has to stop, and catch his breath. He hasn't been _doing_ anything except fucking _standing here_ and talking, but he's breathless all the same. "You mean to tell me, that he wouldn't _jump_ at the chance to be free of them? Like he hasn't been fucking _imprisoned_ by them the second he stepped foot into that goddamn hellscape, even now that he's _out_?"

"Sometimes," Kira says, slowly, thoughtfully, "we need to go through things that we'd rather not, in order to become the people we want to be. The people we're _meant_ to be." She smiles, a small, knowing thing. "Not a lot of people can understand that," she says, "but _I_ do, and so does _Theo_. That’s why we understand each other. So maybe," she meets Liam's eyes, refusing to shy away, _defiant_ , direct. " _Maybe_ , even though the Skinwalker prison wasn’t what he _deserved_ , it was what he _needed_."

Liam's quiet for a bit, before he slumps down, back sliding against the wall and knees drawing in towards his chest as his body meets the floor. "Sorry," he says, just loud enough for her to hear him, "for _before_. For attacking you." He inhales, slowly, and exhales, scrubbing a hand across his crusty eyes and trying to be surprised that his hands come away wet again. "You didn't deserve that. None of this is your fault."

Kira smiles, eyes warm, none of that cold, predatory stillness left in her limbs. "I forgive you," she says, with a nod, and Liam likes that about her, likes how she doesn't say things like _'it's okay'_ much anymore, because it's usually _not_. Liam can count on one hand the number of times something has actually been _okay_. She narrows her eyes. "Maybe," she says, deliberate, _pointed_ , "you should try forgiving _yourself_ too."

Liam snorts, eyes trained firmly on the floor. "I don't know what you’re talking about."

" _Hey_ ," Kira snaps, sharply snapping her fingers twice, impatient, until Liam's eyes flick up to meet hers. "Just because I'm not a _werewolf_ doesn't mean I can't smell _guilt_. It's not _your_ fault either, you _know_ that, right?"

Liam can't help the malignant, bitter smile that stakes its claim on the corner of his mouth. "Isn't it?"

" _No_ ," Kira counters firmly, lifting herself off the couch with an impressive amount of grace, before plopping down on the floor in front of Liam unceremoniously. "Absolutely _none_ of this is your fault, Liam," she says gently, _too_ gentle for Liam, and he has to look away, the only thing stopping him from getting up and walking away right this second, is the unshakable certainty that if he tries, Kira will pin him right back to the ground. " _Hey_ ," Kira snaps, that same _something_ in her tone _forcing_ Liam's eyes up to meet hers. " _Listen to me_ ," she says, _commands_ really, " _none of this_ was your fault, okay? Not the hunters, not the Skinwalker prison, _none of it_."

"Yeah?" Liam says, raking a hand through his hair. "What about the _homelessness_ , huh?" He laughs, bitter, and Kira flinches. "What about the fact that he's been living _alone_ , in his goddamn _truck,_ for the past six _months_ , and I never noticed? About how, he thought it was something we were doing on _purpose_ , because it was what he," Liam chokes, and he just barely gets the word out before his throat closes up, " _deserved_."

"That's on _all of us_ ," she says, grimacing. "He thought _all of us_ were letting him live out his," she pauses, searching, before finally settling, "punishment". She sighs, shaking her head. "We _all_ should have realized something was up. Pushed harder. _But_ ", she says, "that other stuff _? Not your fault_." She puts her hands on his arms, squeezing tight, grounding, boisterous. It seems familiar, but Liam can't place it, until it _hits him_ and Liam realizes that it's what _Malia_ does when she's trying to be reassuring. It makes something cold and numb inside his chest thaw a bit, warmth spreading in its place. "And," Kira adds, "if Theo heard you talking like that, he would smack you upside the head."

Liam can't help the loud laugh that escapes him, even when it sounds, embarrassingly, more like a _sob_. "Yeah, but Theo _isn't_ here," Liam says, voice cracking. "That's kind of the whole _problem_." Kira smiles, commiserating, and lets him stew for a bit as she sits sentinel, warm, capable hands still gripping his arms, albeit more lightly than before. "And by the way," Liam adds, "you were wrong, before." Kira raises an eyebrow. "When you said it was none of my business," Liam explains, " _regardless_ of what he _is_ to me. Because, it's _exactly_ my business."

Kira's expression goes warm, brow dropping, eyes soft and crinkling. "What is he to you?" she asks, indulgent.

"Something," Liam breathes, shaky and uneven. " _Everything_."

Liam heaves in a breath, and exhales again, but it doesn't work as well this time, the breath shuddering out of his lungs, painfully shaky, and he feels can't keep the oxygen in. "And now," Liam whispers, unable to catch his breath, "now he's _gone_." And he _chokes_ horribly, _painfully_ , on his next inhale, feels the sharp twinge in his nose that means he's about to do something awful like _cry_ , and his eyes are stinging and pooling with hot, helpless tears before he can do anything about it.

" _Liam_ ," Kira says, a little frantic, a little desperate, "he's _missing,_ he's not _dead_. We can still _find_ him." And Liam's eyes are so, so sore, and his heart is still pounding away, pathetic and bruised where it sits in his chest, and he doesn't know _what_ his face is doing, but it must be something disbelieving because Kira's nodding, rapidly, like she's trying to reassure him. "Scott told me what happened," she says, hands squeezing, "a pack bond being broken can mean a lot of things." Liam shakes his head, not really in the mood to be placated or fucking _patronized_ , but she ignores him, because she's kind of rude these days -- Malia's influence, probably. "Like people moving to France," she says, raising her eyebrows, "or going to New Mexico to join the Skinwalkers. Any kind of," she purses her lips, " _extenuating circumstances_." And Liam thinks, _huh_ , but he's still not convinced, not until Kira crosses her arms across her chest, lips pursed and confident. "If Theo was dead," Kira says, and Liam can't suppress his reflexive, pained flinch, "don't you think Lydia would've screamed?" Liam's thoughts stutter to a crashing halt. "She _loves_ him," Kira says, "don't you think she would _know_?" and Liam thinks, _oh_.

Liam thinks _, I'm an idiot_ , but mostly he thinks, _thank g_ od, _he's okay_. He thinks, _he's everything, and he's okay_ , relief _crashing_ through his body, almost _bowling him over_ with the force of it, and he drags in a desperate, heaving breath, feeling like he just broke the surface of water after too long underneath, as the last vestiges of the numbness fade, and the oxygen actually enters his body.

"You're going to _accept_ his bond breaking, just like that?" Kira asks, challenging, "Sounds like you're _quitting_ on _Theo_." She smiles, sharp _and knowing_ " _You gonna give up that easy, Dunbar?_ " and Liam has to shut his eyes, can't stop the wide, instinctive smile that breaks across his face, even as he feels the last of the tears roll down his cheeks, because he can _hear his voice_ , only _one_ person in his entire _goddamn_ life calls him _Dunbar_ like _that_ , and it feels like he can finally fucking _breathe_ , like he isn’t being choked by his own skin wrapped too tight around him.

He opens his eyes to see Kira's, flared challengingly, a steadfast burning gold, flares his own in response, and replies, steel in his voice and _conviction_ burning hot in his veins:

"Not a _fucking_ chance."

\---

" _Hey_ ," Liam says, grinning, swaying a bit in the doorway. Or maybe it's everything else that's swaying. Mason eyes him warily where he stands on the front porch.

"What's up, man?" Mason smiles, before narrowing his eyes at Liam, assessing. "Are you _drunk_?"

" _No_ ," Liam retorts, frowning as hard as he can, but he doesn't think he's frowning hard enough, because it doesn't scare Mason away from asking questions. And he used the _Derek-eyebrows_ and everything. Mason laughs. Liam frowns harder.

"You sure?" Mason says, biting the inside of his cheek. It's a stupid face to make, and Liam tells him so, and then, when he sways hard enough that he almost falls on _top_ of Mason, he concedes the point.

" _Maybe_ ," Liam relents, grudgingly. "Maybe just a lil' bit. Like," Liam tries to hold his fingers a short distance apart, but they keep drawing together and touching, uncooperative. Liam is going to have to discipline them later for not following the rules, and he makes a mental note to do so.

"Right," Mason says, indulgent, as he steps into the Martins' house.

"Why're you here?" Liam asks, blinking slowly. _Liam_ couldn't have texted him, because when Lydia caught him tapping a text out on his phone, a couple hot chocolates in, she confiscated it _("You'll thank me for this later, Liam, I promise_ "), because she's a ginger. But she's also really pretty, and smart, so that might make up for the no soul thing. Liam's not entirely sure, because he hasn't done the math, mostly because he suspects their might be some differential equations involved, and he's barely pulling a B- in _Precalc_. " _But if I carry the one_ ," Liam murmurs, trying to work it out in his head, to no avail. All it garners him is a _very_ weird look from Mason. Liam ignores him, because he's a good friend, and because his Mom raised him to be polite and not comment when other people's faces do weird things.

"Kira texted me," Mason says slowly, like Liam's a child. It makes him bristle, just a bit. "She said it seemed like you needed a friend. Argent and Agent McCall are, like, looking through traffic camera footage and trying to cross-reference hunter stronghold locations." He shrugs, one-shouldered. "I swung by there first, but they said there wasn't much I could do to help, they just have to try and track the car using the right route, and we'll be able to find him."

Liam hums in agreement. And because he just likes the noise. He wishes that they had some music playing, but they don't, so he hums louder. It sounds kind of like the national anthem, but Liam can't tell, so he hums even _louder_ just to try and pick apart the notes. He's really good at music, and patriotism, and he tells Mason so.

"Of _course_ ," Mason agrees, nodding. The word _patronizing_ pops into Liam's head, but it's close enough to patriotism, that he takes it as a compliment, grinning and patting Mason on the head, except he kind of misses, and just hits the side of the wall instead. "Well," Mason says, "it seems like you're a couple drinks ahead, so I guess I'll have to catch up."

"Y'don't _have to_ ," Liam promises, because he's not going to _make_ his friend drink just because he's a fucking mess.

"What kind of a best friend would I be," Mason says, making his way to the kitchen, "if I let you drink _alone_? That's just _sad_ , man. Where's the booze?"

Liam leads him to the island with all the ingredients on it. Mason frowns at the gutted corpse of the Swiss Miss packet. "She won't let me drink straight vodka," Liam explains, gesturing vaguely, except his hands feel too big for his body. "Lydia says that drinking is ' _not a healthy coping mechaninimism_ '."

" _Mechanism_ ," Mason corrects automatically, gently catching Liam's hands in his own from where they were whipping around violently, trying to make acceptable air quotes. Liam obediently relaxes his hands, but he ignores Mason because it's Mason's business if he just wants to repeat Liam's words back at him. He's beginning to wonder if _he's_ the drunk one here.

"But she said I'd do more damage to myself anxious than a lil' drunk. So, I can only have spiked hot chocolate," Liam explains. "She's downstairs in her lab right now 'cause I said I wanted to be alone for a bit."

Mason eyes Liam's mug, a fairly translucent, rust-colored drink. It looks pretty disgusting, and, besides the faint undertones of chocolate and vanilla, it tastes pretty disgusting too. "That looks like a _lot_ of spike, and _very little_ hot chocolate," Mason notes, sounding impressed.

"Thanks," Liam replies, because he's really good at accepting compliments, "I poured it myself."

"I can _tell_ ," Mason assures, nodding. He tips his head toward the bottle on the island. "Is this just vodka?"

Liam nods vigorously. "Yeah, you can have that. I left the one with the wolfbane in the living room." Liam frowns. " _Wolfbane_." Tries again, " _Woooolfbane_." Apparently _wolfsbane_ has one too many consonants for Liam to fit his tired, heavy tongue around.

"Alright then," Mason declares resolutely, nodding and then squaring his shoulders. Liam doesn't like the look in his eyes, and he jolts when Mason makes a sudden move to the bottle of vodka. "Bottoms up," he says, and Liam's unable to suppress the alarmed noise that's ripped from his throat, when Mason tips the vodka bottle straight to his mouth, and swallows down _four enormous mouthfuls_.

" _Holy shit_ ," Liam breathes. "Are you trying to take the _fucking skin off the inside of your mouth?_ " he hisses, snatching the bottle back from Mason, and capping it frantically, just in case Mason decides to spontaneously down the rest, and melt his fucking tongue off. The whole experience is very sobering, and Liam feels a lot less floaty than he did a couple seconds ago. Mason winks at him, and Liam scowls.

Thirty minutes (and one spiked hot chocolate) later, they're sprawled across the living room in varying states of dishevelment. Liam's laying on the couch, shirt half unbuttoned, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling, because they're kind of interesting-looking. Mason's laying across the floor, missing his pants. Liam has _no_ idea where they managed to disappear, because Mason never once left the living room, but he can't see them anywhere. Mason's staring at his shoelaces like their absolutely fascinating. He undid one of the knots and has spent the last ten minutes crossing and uncrossing the limp laces in complete bewilderment, seemingly trying to figure out how to retie them, but achieving little more than some puzzled head shakes and disgruntled mumbling.

Liam's still sipping on a drink, but it's _actually_ more hot chocolate than vodka this time. Mason has water, because Liam doesn't trust him with anything else.

"So," Mason starts, and Liam almost falls off the couch in surprise, because he had assumed that they would spend most of their time drunk commiserating in silence, but clearly Mason has other ideas. "Y'wanna talk about why we're getting drunk right now?"

"Not really," Liam grumbles, but Mason slants him a _look_ , a very pointed, _I did not drag my ass to get drunk at the Martins' at nine in the morning for this_ , and Liam thinks, _fair enough_ , and so he relents. " _Fine_ ," Liam sighs, slumping down further into the couch. "The ritual didn't go well."

"Like it didn't work?" Mason asks, frowning.

" _No_ ," Liam replies, "No, it definitely _worked_. I _saw him_. I _talked to him_." His voice, horrifyingly, _cracks_ , but Mason doesn't comment on it, because he's great like that. "It was just . . ." Liam turns his head, laying his cheek against the couch so that he can meet Mason's eyes, "it was _awful_ , it was _so_ , _so bad, they--"_ and his throat starts closing up, cutting anything else off, and Mason quickly, with a rapidity and grace that his vodka-addled body shouldn't have been capable of, moves to sit next to Liam on the couch, pulling him into his chest with two strong arms, and Liam collapses into his hold with an embarrassingly grateful half-sob.

" _Shh_ ," Mason hushes gently, only a _little_ slurred, sloppily carding his fingers through Liam's hair. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, it’s _okay_."

"I _don't_ want to," Liam says, and it's muffled by Mason's soft sweatshirt. A sound escapes from Liam's throat, helpless, unbidden, that’s probably half-laugh and half-sob, but mostly just sounds like a wounded animal. And he can't really even _articulate_ how much he _doesn't_ want to talk about it, and so his mind switches tracks, gets caught on something else. Something that he barely registered in the moment, with everything else going on, but has had _hours_ of anxious overthinking to mull over.

"I didn't," Liam tries, until his voice starts getting thick. He takes a breath and tries again, bolstered by Mason's grounding arm on his back. " _I didn't say it back,_ " Liam murmurs, burying his face deeper into Mason's sweatshirt, eyes burning. " _He told me he_ loved _me_ , basically," Liam whispers, " _and I didn't say it_ back _."_

" _Oh,_ " Mason breathes, and then, tone carefully neutral, "do _you_?" He pulls back to meet Liam's eyes, and it takes everything Liam has to not avert his gaze. "Do you love him back?"

" _Yes,_ " Liam replies, quickly, quiet but sure, completely unhesitating, because he's too tired and drunk and heartsick to lie to himself, and it's such a simple truth at this point that it barely requires a second thought. It's not even a point of contention; it's an incontestable fact, a self-fulfilling prophecy, just one of Liam's personality traits. This is Liam Dunbar, who plays lacrosse, gets angry, and loves Theo. Liam feels, all at once, stone-cold sober. He slumps back against the couch cushion, scrubbing a hand over his tired eyes. " _So much_ ," Liam whispers, " _so much, that it_ hurts _sometimes_ just _to_ look _at him._ "

He downs the rest of his hot chocolate, just to feel floaty again. It works fairly effectively, even though it burns like _fire_ on the way down, and Liam makes a mental note to send Lydia a gift basket or something. He leans forward to pour himself some more, adding a little extra vodka, because he _deserves_ it.

“He’s,” Liam tries, his words slurring a but on the way out, letters smearing together and bleeding into one another, “he’s _it_ for me, I think. I don't think I could love someone like _this_ ever again.” He takes a sip, swishes it around his mouth. His voice is still hoarse when he says, quiet, “I think it would _destroy me_ to _try_.”

A couple moments of silence, comfortable and evaluating. And then:

"Damn," Mason murmurs, eyebrows raised, appraising. "Well, I'm glad you finally figured it out."

Liam freezes, mug halfway to his mouth, and frowns, narrowing his eyes at Mason. "You _knew_?"

Mason's expression turns _insulted_. "Are you _kidding me_?" he asks, half-hysterical. Liam is _not_ , in fact, kidding him, and he tells him so. "You're not as subtle as you think you are. Man, honestly," Mason shakes his head, rubs the back of his neck, "you guys are _gross_. Like so, so gross. Like," he stretches back on the couch, flinging his arms back over the headrest and tipping his head all the way back, until he's looking straight up at the ceiling. "I've watched you guys fight together, and I've seen _sex_ that was less intimate."

"I-- _What_?" Liam frowns harder. "Who are you watching having _sex_?"

"That is _so_ not the point," Mason says, laughing. "The point _is_ , that I love spending time with you, because you're my _boy_ ," Mason ruffles Liam's hair aggressively, and Liam can't help but grin, even as he makes the obligatory affronted noise and bats his hand away, "and I like spending time with _him_ , because he's like, weirdly knowledgeable and _surprisingly_ hilarious, but," Mason shakes his head, smiling, "the two of you together? _Hard_ pass. It's just . . ." he gestures vaguely, " _too much_."

"What do you mean?" Liam asks, bewildered.

"Like," Mason sighs, a long, dramatic one, "watching you guys doing _anything_ together make me feel like I'm . . ." he gestures, even more vaguely before, considering expression on his face like he's trying to find the right words, before he snaps his fingers, twice; a realization. "Like I'm peeking through someone's bedroom window, you know? Like I'm intruding on some _private moment_."

Liam blinks. "I have _literally_ no idea what you're talking about."

"Wow, _okay_ ," Mason says, eyeing him disbelievingly, " _okay_ , why do you think no one goes to the diner with you anymore?"

" _I_ \--" Liam starts, before realizing that he doesn't _know_. In fact, he didn't even _realize_ that they were _deliberately_ letting him go alone. He frowns.

"You didn't even notice, did you," Mason says, sounding impressed, but not surprised, nodding his head. "Yeah, that checks out."

"Okay, fine," Liam relents, feeling weirdly exposed. "Why doesn't anyone go to diner with me anymore?"

"The _last_ time I went," Mason says, "you guys spent like _two hours_ staring into each other's eyes, smiling like idiots. _Borderline eye-fucking,_ except it wasn't even _fucking_ it was like . . . _Making love_." He wrinkles his nose, exaggeratedly disgusted, and shakes his head, small smile playing around his mouth. "I've never felt like I was third wheeling so hard in my _life_. And I _wasn't even third wheeling,_ because _Alec_ was there _too_."

"We did _not_ ," Liam splutters, half-hysterical, because he would've _remembered that_. Theo's eyes are memorable like that. Then again, he doesn't remember Alec being there _at all_ , just _barely_ remembers _Mason's_ presence that day, and so maybe his memory isn't the _most_ reliable. He takes a generous swig of vodka-laced hot chocolate. And then a bigger one after that. It scalds his throat on the way down, but the sharp, stinging burn is almost _satisfyingly_ this time.

"You fed each other _pie_ ," Mason retorts, sounding exasperated.

"Okay," Liam says, whipping an affronted hand up in defense, "first of all, we didn't _feed each other pie_ , that would be ridiculous." He crosses his arms across his chest. "I fed _him_ pie, that's it," and Mason snorts, because he's fucking _rude_. "It was _his_ diner's pie, and _he said he had never tasted it before_ ," Liam hisses, "the _fuck_ was I supposed to do?"

Mason _laughs_. Liam keeps his arms crossed stubbornly, before abandoning the stance in favor of pouring the last of the vodka out into his mug. The resulting mixture looks like bloody water, but Liam's pretty sure he's going to need it for whatever Mason's getting at.

"It was _horrible_ ," Mason says, biting on the inside of his cheek, as Liam takes two big gulps and seethes quietly. "I mean _adorable_ , but like, really gross. I've seen him _completely_ naked before, and been fine, but _that_ was so much that I couldn't look him in the eye for like, a week." Mason shakes his head. "I had to talk to my _therapist_ about it. She told me to give you her card." He pats down his pockets, turns them inside out to reveal nothing except a condom and a small baggie of what seems to be _hair_ , both of which he quickly shoves back in. "It's probably at home, I'll give it to you the next time you come over."

A beat of silence. Then, another.

"I," Liam says, fidgeting, "I thought you'd be more upset. That I," he pauses, " _you know_."

"That you, _what_ , love Theo?" Mason asks, grinning. "Nah, he's cool." He tilts his head, considering, before amending it with, "I mean he's still kind of an ass," and Liam flicks him on the forehead, while Mason just _snickers_ , "but he's like, really good for you. You guys are just," he grins, " _really good for each other_."

"I don't know about _that_ ," Liam replies, scrubbing his face with both hands. " _He's_ good for _me_ , he's _so_ ," Liam sighs, " _so_ good for me. But," Liam laughs, horribly bitter and undeniably guilty, "I let him live in his _truck_. I didn't notice when he was _taken_ , and I made him think that no one was coming to _help him_." Liam rakes his hands through his hair, but it doesn't stop them from shaking, when he whispers, " _I didn't say it back_."

"You'll _fix_ it," Mason says, firm and unwavering, because he's always believed in Liam, seen the best in him, even when no one else has. "You'll bring him home, and you'll _fix_ it, because you _make each other better_. You bring out the best in each other," Mason says, matter-of fact, and Liam desperately hopes that he's _right_. There silence in that moment weighs on Liam, coalesces into something that he's not strong enough to bear right now, and so he downs the rest of his horrible concoction of a mixer, and Mason thankfully takes it as the signal that it is, because he’s nothing if not observant. "Besides, I can't really be blame you for liking him like _that_ , when he's hot like _woah_."

Liam laughs, like he hasn't in a couple of days. "Don't let Corey hear you say that."

"Are you kidding?" Mason asks, affronted. "Corey _agrees_. Theo's like . . . Number _three_ on the threesome list."

"He's _what_?" Liam blinks. "Who's _one and two_?"

Mason narrows his eyes, getting off the couch and making his way to the kitchen, presumably to refill his glass. "Mind your own damn business."

Liam sprawls out on the couch, stretching his legs in the warm impression left where Mason was sitting a couple seconds ago. "Three is like _really_ high," Liam muses, pretty sure his words have started slurring again, which means the wolfsbane has finally gone to his head. "But that's good," he says, "he's great." Liam smiles helplessly. "He's the _best_. Of course people are going to like him. Everyone should like him."

"Liam," Mason says patiently, "if everyone liked him, you would get _jealous_."

" _What_? That's _ridiculous_ " Liam frowns, bewildered, and kind of offended. "If _I_ love him, how could I blame other people for doing the same thing?"

Mason returns, glass full of something clear, and Liam would be willing to bet serious money that it's not water. "You can't be serious," Mason says, disbelieving. "There's no _way_ you don't get _jealous_. What about that time you freaked out about Legs, for like two weeks?"

Liam snorts. "That wasn't because I was worried he had a _girlfriend_ ," and then, concedes, " _mostly_ ", at Mason's doubtful look. Liam huffs. "That was because he had someone _important_ in his life, and didn't _tell me_."

" _So,_ " Mason says, tilting his chin in a horrible, mocking exaggeration of thinking. "What you're saying _is,_ " he says, slow and taunting, "you wouldn't be upset if him and Legs started dating? _You_ wouldn't want to be his boyfriend?"

" _Boyfriend?_ " Liam echoes, bemused. "I don't want to be his _boyfriend_ ," he scoffs, because what a mundane fucking word to describe what _exactly_ it is Liam _wants_ to be to Theo. Or maybe it's because Liam's so impressively drunk that he doesn't remember exactly what the word means, whatever. "I want," Liam starts, smacking his lips together, because his mouth feels dry all of a sudden, "I want to hold his hand and smell his hair and make him _smile_ and feed him pie and," he scrubs a hand across his eyes, "listen to him talk about his _day_ and tell him about _mine_ , but," Liam wrinkles his nose, "I don't want to be his stupid _boyfriend._ "

"I--" Mason tries, before closing his mouth and apparently rebooting his brain. "I don't even _know_ what to say to that." Liam takes it as the compliment that it is, because Mason is _never_ speechless.

"And besides," Liam continues, "I never said I wouldn't be _upset_ , I said I wouldn't be _jealous_. I would be," Liam takes a deep breath in, and lets it out in a gusty, cleansing sigh, " _so fucking sad_ , but, like, all I want is for him to be happy, you know?" Liam frowns. "He deserves to be happy. He deserves," Liam picks at the skin around his fingernails, breathes, "he deserves a _happy ending_." Mason is quiet next to him. Solemn. "So if he was happy with someone else, I wouldn't ever do anything to threaten that. It'll be fine," Liam says, but it sounds unconvincing, even to himself, so he repeats it, more resolutely, " _We'll_ be fine. And if they break his heart, I'll feed him ice cream and hold him while he cries and then I'll sneak out when he's asleep and like, bust up their headlights or something, but," he sighs, "it'll be _fine._ "

" _Jesus,_ " Mason breathes, visibly incredulous. "That's . . ."

"I swear to God, Mason," Liam interrupts, exasperated, "if you say _intense_ , I'm going to--"

" _No_ ," Mason laughs, half-hysterical, " _I_ don't even know what word I was going to use. I don't even know what to _say_. What's _anyone_ supposed to say to that?"

Liam shrugs, a little sloppy, because the wolfsbane is working as _very effective_ muscle relaxant now. He feels like he’s sinking into the couch.

"You know," Mason says quietly, turning to meet Liam's eyes. "We had to read _Wuthering Heights_ last year, and there's this quote I think of, every time I see you two fight together. _Every time_." Mason's eyes are _boring_ into his, and Liam feels like he should say something, cut him off before he strips the last of Liam's defenses, laying him completely bare, but Mason is too brave to stay quiet, always has been. "' _Whatever our souls are made of,_ " Mason quotes, " _his and mine are the same.'"_

Liam feels like the air has been sucked out of the _room_ , like the air has been sucked straight out of his _lungs_ , like his heart _stopped beating_ , just for a second, and he _can't_ feel like this, not _right now_ , it's too heavy for his exhausted shoulders to bear, and it's why he drank all that doctored vodka in the first place, he _can't_ do this with Theo _untethered_ and _ten hours away_ , rotting on some horrible examination table, and Liam feels, for a brief moment, like the pressure is starting to make his chest cave in, like it's so much, he's going to implode upon himself, but Mason rests a warm, _anchoring_ hand on his shoulder.

"Or maybe," Mason says, tone light, and Liam is _so incredibly grateful_ for him that in that moment, it almost bowls him over. " _Maybe_ you guys don't share a soul. You share a brain cell and you whack it back and forth like you're playing tennis." He shrugs, smiling. "The _only_ reason Theo would think that you don't love him back, is because it's clearly _your_ turn on the brain cell." Mason raises an eyebrow. "This is a new and exciting first for you. How does it feel?"

A high, offended noise escapes Liam's throat as he punches Mason in the shoulder, and just like that, he can breathe again, taking in big, indulgent gulps of air.

"Okay," Liam relents, "so maybe I _do_ want to be his boyfriend."

Mason snorts, looking _highly_ amused. "You _think_?"

"It doesn't matter, though," Liam says, completely ignoring Mason because he's _mean_ , "because I'm pretty sure it's . . ." he rubs the back of his neck, suddenly awkward, " _not mutual._ "

Mason's startles so hard that he slips _off_ the couch and _onto_ the floor. "What the _fuck_ are you talking about?" Mason hisses, absolutely incredulous, rubbing at his lower back gingerly. "How drunk _are_ you? Are those real words coming out of your dumbass mouth?" Liam privately thinks that's a bit harsh, but Mason is clearly not done. "Didn't you _just_ say that he told you he _loved you_?"

" _I knew I loved him before I knew I was into guys,_ " Liam yells _, way_ louder than he meant to. His voice reverberates in the open space and he thinks that if it were anyone other than Mason, he would wish the ground had opened up and swallowed him whole by now. "I don't," Liam licks his lips, suddenly nervous, "I don't know if what he meant was like. . . Romantic love. . . Or like--" he sighs, helpless. "The thing is," Liam tries, "we moved so far, so fast, like, we skipped everything in between. We went straight from, like, enemies to allies to friends in a _second_ , and then zipped all the way to--"

" _Soulmates?_ " Mason offers, beatific smile on his face,

"Shut _up_ ," Liam counters, in a comeback that his truly not his best, but he's too busy trying to force the inevitable flush that rises up his neck back down where it belongs to come up with anything better. "I was going to _say anchors_. He might've actually been my _anchor_ even _before_ he was my _friend_." Liam shrugs. "The point _is_ , I don't know if we could ever be more than we are right now, and I don't know how _to ask_ , because what if it _ruins everything_?"

"You know what _I_ think?" Mason asks, tilting his head, considering. "You're afraid to ask him things," he points out, "because you're afraid to scare him off. And he's afraid to tell you things, because he's afraid to scare _you_ off."

"That’s _stupid_ ," Liam blurts, and Mason laughs, bright and sudden, replies, "I'm glad we agree."

"That's _so_ stupid," Liam repeats, sitting up straight. "He can’t _scare me off_. I don't think I _could_ stop loving him, even if I _wanted to_." Liam buries his face in his hands and groans, taking solace in the comforting squeeze of Mason's hand on his shoulder. "He's _my anchor_ and he makes me _crazy_ but he also makes me calm, and he makes me _stupid_ , but he also makes me _think_."

"I'm pretty sure he's, like _, ninety percent_ of your impulse control," Mason agrees, chuckling lightly. "I can't _believe_ you tried to choke out _Kira_." Peals of loud laughter spill from his throat, like a _hyena_ , and Liam glares at him, because it's what Mason deserves.

"Can we _please_ not talk about that?" Liam groans. "Oh my _god_ , Malia's going to _kill me_." Liam looks up at Mason with wide, alarmed eyes. "She's actually going to _rip my limbs off_ and then _beat me with them_."

"That's . . . very specific," Mason notes, frowning.

"It's the threat she used the _last_ time someone hurt Kira," Liam says, miserable and already plotting his inevitable name-change and move from the country. Maybe an entrance into, like, witness protection, or something.

"Will you _chill_?" Mason laughs, because apparently, he's a sadist who relishes Liam's pain and embarrassment. "I'm pretty sure she'll give you a free pass. She's literally _been_ there. I'm pretty sure she knocked _two whole teeth_ out of Scott's mouth when she thought he _abandoned Kira to the Skinwalkers_."

"Yeah," Liam nods, frowning, "I'm pretty sure Kira's _Malia's_ impulse control."

"Definitely," Mason agrees easily. " _Anchors_." Liam nods. "Hey," Mason says, "if you and Theo are that in sync when you _fight_ ," he drops his voice low, conspiratorial, "imagine what the _sex_ will be like."

" _Mason_ ," Liam chastises, as he feels his face _burn_ and Mason cackles, like the horrible witch he is. _“Stop!_ "

"Don't tell me you haven't thought about it," Mason says, chastising and dubious, still half-laughing.

"Are you kidding?" Liam groans. "Have you _seen him_? Of course I've _thought about it_. I've spent a _lot_ of time, uh," he clears his throat, resisting the urge to squirm, " _thinking about it_."

" _Gross,_ " replies Mason gleefully.

"Like . . ." Liam sighs, appropriately dramatic, " _God_."

"To be fair," Mason relents, "he _is_ , like, _really_ pretty."

"He's so pretty," Liam says gravely, "that it gives me _migraines_ sometimes."

Mason laughs, loud and abandoned. "I _like_ drunk you, he's _very_ honest. We should do wolfsbane truth-time more often." He beams. "This is all very embarrassing. I'm embarrassed for you right now, I just want you to know that."

"But, like," Liam continues, ignoring him, "I don't even like him because he's pretty."

Mason squints. "You don't like that he's pretty?"

" _What_?" Liam whacks him with a throw pillow that had been strewn on the floor, and it makes Mason yelp. " _No_ , I meant that it, like, doesn't even make the top five list for why I like him. It only _barely_ makes the top ten."

Mason sighs. "I _know_ I'm going to regret asking this," he clenches his eyes shut, visibly bracing himself, "but what could _possibly_ be on the top five list?"

"Sometimes," Liam starts, voice barely a whisper, "he says something so _fucking smart,_ that I just want to kiss his dumb, stupid face."

"This was a mistake," Mason says, grabbing the pillow from Liam's hands and groaning into it as he apparently tries to smother himself with it. "This was _such_ a mistake, I thought I could take it, but I was _wrong_. I am _way_ too sober for this. We're going to need another bottle if you want to keep going."

"He's _thoughtful_ ," Liam groans, dropping his face into his hands. "Like, he _knows_ me, and he just--" Liam sighs, casting his mind back, grasping for an example, while Mason continues to grumble into the pillow he's holding hostage.

 _Pie,_ Liam thinks, there's something important about _pie_ , but Liam's brain is all pleasantly staticky again, and he can't quite seem to grasp it. Mason thumps his fist down onto the floor where he's sitting in put-upon disgruntlement, and the sound of it brings Liam back to a much harsher thump, an unimpressed voice in a diner staring into Liam's eyes, whispering low, dangerous, " _first of all, you better pipe the fuck down_ ," and it _hits_ Liam.

" _Pie!_ " Liam all but _shouts_ in his moment of realization, and Mason startles _again_ , but there's nowhere to go except further down onto the floor, and so that's where he ends up, back flat on the ground.

He looks up at Liam from his new home on the Martins' cherry wood floors, visibly alarmed, and kind of betrayed. "What . . .?"

"Did you know," Liam starts, almost frantic now that he _remembers_ what went down in the twenty minutes between when he started drinking, and when Lydia confiscated his phone, the brief, half-hearted conversation where Liam said, only half-joking, _"I might have to swing by for some pie, later_ ," and Legs, at the other end of the line, stayed silent, struck speechless for a brief moment before replying, shocked, _"Oh my god, you don't_ know. _"_

" _Did you know_ ," Liam repeats, trying to get the hysteria in his voice under control, "that they don't even _serve_ apple pie at the diner?"

Mason frowns. " _What?_ What are you talking about?" he asks, confused. "I thought that's what you got, like . . . Every time. You said it was the best pie you’ve ever had."

Liam nods, a little manically. "It _is_ ," Liam agrees, "But I called Legs, like, right after Kira left, because I realized that we forgot to give her an update, or whatever," he stops for a split-second, just to catch his breath, before continuing, at a breakneck, half-hysterical pace, "and I kind of joked about needing emergency pie as hangover food, and she said that _apparently_ , apple pie isn't even on their _menu_ ," Liam gestures, frenzied, words practically tripping over each other, " _apparently_ , it was just a _special_ for the week when I first visited the diner, back in _June_ , or whatever, and they only make it like, once a year? Because it's too expensive to make year-round, because their cook refuses to use anything except like, fresh stuff, and that shit is _seasonal_."

"If you have a point," Mason prompts, eyebrows raised in clear impatience, "you should probably get to it sometime _soon_."

" _So_ ," Liam continues, and the lack of air remaining in his lungs makes his voice comes out as a borderline maniacal _squeak_ , so he just pants for a bit, trying to catch his breath, unsuccessfully, clears his throat and tries again. " _So,_ " and now his voice is very _clearly_ exaggeratedly _low_ , but he soldiers on, " _so,_ they only even make it on the days when I visit? And they take the extra cost of it out of Theo's paycheck."

"Whoa, _what_?"

"And _so_ ," Liam steamrolls, "on days when he doesn't work, they don't even _offer it_."

" _God_ ," Mason breathes, pulling the pillow completely out of his face for once to meet Liam's half-hysterical gaze, eyes wide. He shakes his head, disbelieving. "He's literally _broke_ all the time, and he's been spending money enabling your goddamn _pie addiction_?" He barks out a laugh, and it sounds as manic as Liam _feels_. "Well," he says, incredulous but grinning wide, "now I'm just embarassed for the _both of you_. _Jesus fucking Christ._ " He shakes his head, and then buries it

back into his pillow. "Too goddamn _much_."

"Yeah," Liam agrees, nodding, "I'm the _worst_ ," he groans, " _God._ He's been skipping _meals_ , but paying for my _pie_?" He massages his temples, where a migraine, or maybe an impending breakdown, is starting to build. "He noticed that apple was my _favorite_ , but I didn't notice that he _didn't have a home?_ " Mason winces, sympathetic, but he doesn't say anything. Liam thinks for once, he might be out of words, out of reassurances because, as he said, _too goddamn much._ "It's just," Liam says, gesturing at the ceiling helplessly, trying to find the words for a feeling he can _barely_ pinpoint, curling tight deep inside his chest. "He _sees_ me. Like," Liam sighs. "We spend out entire _lives_ wanting to be seen as we really are, and then someone finally looks at us and _sees_ us, _really_ sees us, and then we, like, don't measure up. We're a disappointment. But he's always _seen_ me, and made me feel like I was exceeding all his expectations, just by being, like, who I _am_ ". Mason's eyes are serious, even as he's sprawled across the floor. "And I see _him_ ," Liam whispers, "I _know him_ ,” because he _does;_ he knows how Theo likes watching the sunrise, and only eats his sandwiches with gross crunchy peanut butter (which his Mom has started buying in bulk in the hopes of luring Theo to the house, because Liam’s pretty sure he’s the favorite son now), and he knows that _Theo’s shockingly_ good at math, even though he’ll won’t admit it, because it embarrasses him for some reason. Liam knows that Theo’s _also_ weirdly good with _kids_ — they were supposed to babysit Nolan's cousin for a weekend, and they couldn't get her to stop crying for _hours_ , until Theo showed up with sustenance, eyeing their attempts at appeasing her (toys strewn across the floor, food spilled on the couch, a broken guitar sitting despondently in the corner) warily, rolled his eyes and picked her up, rocking her gently until her cries quieted into hiccups, and she fell into a deep, peaceful sleep) — even though they make something desperately sad build in his eyes that Liam doesn’t have the heart to ask about. Liam knows that Theo’s seen a _lot_ of the world — more than the rest of them combined — although _that’s_ mostly thanks to Corey’s habit of stress-vision-board-making when he gets tired of all Beacon Hills’ typical nonsense.

(Theo hums, considering, before tapping twice on one of the pictures on the board and shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t,” he warns, and it’s the loud, affronted noise that Corey makes, that steals Liam’s attention from Mason brutally _whipping_ his ass at Mario Kart.

“Are you _insane_?” Corey cries, incredulous, batting Theo’s hand away. “ _The Champs Elysées_? Of _course_ I have to see it. “

“It’s not as nice as you think it is,” Theo replies, surprisingly gentle, where Liam would've expected him to be snarky. “It’s kind of overcrowded and underwhelming. Also, it’s expensive as _fuck_.” He wrinkles his nose. “Fuckers charged me, like, _eleven dollars_ for a goddamn _Coke.”_

And _that_ makes even _Mason_ turn away, surprised. “You’ve been?”

Theo eyes them each, bemusement evident as his gaze flicks from Mason, to Liam, before resting on Corey. “It’s not like the Doctors were the type to _settle down_ ,” he says, frowning, “I’ve been . . . Around.”

“ _Fantastic,”_ Corey says, grabbing Theo by the fabric at the front of his sweatshirt, and hauling him _in hard_ , until they’re _both_ poring over the vision board. Corey sounds mostly grateful as he recovers _much_ quicker than Liam and Mason, who are _still_ exchanging bewildered looks. “What about this one?” He points at another part of the board that Liam isn’t in a position to see. Theo snorts.

“ _Definitely_ not,” he says, shaking his head, “the drinks on Bourbon Street will cost you, like, your _life savings_ ,” he scrapes a fingernail across the board, prying the picture up gently, “there are _much_ better places to get drunk in New Orleans,” he promises, tossing the picture aside. “And besides,” he says, grinning, “even if you _do_ have any money in your wallet at the end of the night, it’ll probably get _stolen.”_

“ _You_ got your _wallet_ stolen?” Corey blurts, shocked and a little gleefully smug. A beat of silence, a sigh, and then a resigned, “ _you_ were the one stealing wallets weren’t you?”

Theo snickers, ruffling Corey’s hair which draws a high, harassed noise from him, while Mason and Liam unsuccessfully try to hide their laughter in each other’s shoulders.)

He knows that Theo doesn’t like the hospital much, although he still doesn’t know _why_. He _does_ know that the Skinwalkers had to have chosen it for a _reason_ , that there had to have been _something_ there to make it Theo's own personal hellscape. He tries to _imagine_ what it must've taken for Theo to come there with him _willingly_ , not once, but _twice_ , when they were barely even _friends_ , just to _help Liam out_. It makes his chest _ache_.

He knows that Theo stiffens at unexpected touches, or even the _prospect_ of one, like he needs to feel it out first, assess its intentions, before he can let himself react. Like he’s constantly on edge, but the flinch was trained out of him long ago. Liam sees it once when he’s on the edge of losing control, the full moon _begging_ the wolf inside of him to _claw, rip, tear_ , and Theo’s being snarky, like he is at his _worst_ , and Liam raises a fist, ready to get in a satisfying swing at his nose, just like the good old days, but then Theo stills, deathly quiet, eyes going wary and unfocused, clearly bracing himself for the hit, and it takes the fight out of Liam so abruptly and _violently_ that he almost collapses _into_ himself. He falls to the floor, but doesn't actually brain himself on it; Theo catches him, because of course he does.

Liam knows the tilt of Theo’s head that means, _behind you,_ when he doesn’t have a completely clear field of vision, letting him take out an attacker at his six o’clock without even turning around to look. He knows the flick of Theo’s eyes that means, _down_ , so that Liam can buckle down and brace himself enough for Theo to use him as a goddamn launching pad. Liam knows the tense in his arm that means Theo's about to _hurl_ himself forward, flipping into the line of fire, and Liam's either supposed to move _with_ him, or move _out of the way_. He hasn't picked the second option yet. Liam knows the slight flex in his jaw that means Theo has taken a hit, even when he pretends like nothing happened afterward. He knows the curl of his mouth when he’s taunting enemies and the quirk of his brow that means he’s about to do something _stupid_.

Liam knows the _very specific_ furrow of his eyebrows for when he's genuinely interested in something, completely concentrated. He knows the hand pressing _hard_ at Theo's sternum, unconscious, unforgiving, when he gets anxious. He knows the way Theo's fingers drum on the steering wheel when he actually _likes_ the music in his truck, and the way they twitch sometimes when Liam gets really close, half-aborted moves to reach out and _touch_ , before Theo seemingly catches himself, and pulls back. Liam _desperately_ wishes he wouldn't. He knows the challenging tilt of his smirk, playfully taunting in a way that makes Liam's blood run _hot_ , he knows the slight flex at Theo's temple that means he's _pissed_ , and he knows the _fascinating_ flush of color that sometimes dusts Theo's cheeks before he has time to regain his wits. Liam knows the bruises under his eyes, the line of his jaw, the freckle on his cheek. He knows the horrible neutral mask that Theo sometimes pulls on, when everything gets to be too much, all at once, and he _hates_ it, he _hates_ it with everything he has in him, when he can _see_ Theo's walls going back up, but in those moments, he tries to just stay close, a quiet, steady presence, like Theo always is for _him_. Liam knows the bright, abandoned smile, and the crinkle of his eyes, for when Theo's _really_ , _genuinely happy_ and it _hurts_ the _best_ kind of hurt just to look at him. It makes _something_ rise up sharp and fast and tangled in Liam's chest, and Liam can just _barely_ stay upright, dizzy with it. It's a thought that's so _pathetic_ , that it makes Liam wince _outwardly_ , as he feels the heat rise to his cheeks.

"I know _him_ ," Liam repeats quietly, _firmly_ , trying to force the flush back down, _"_ even if I don’t know everything _about_ him." Liam scrubs a hand across his eyes, clenching them shut, tight. "Or apparently," he says, quiet, " _anything_ about him _._ " He sets his jaw, determined. "But I _want to_ , more than _anything,_ " he says, and then, resolute, "I'm _going to_."

Mason sits back up slowly, gets on the couch, and lets Liam lean into him. "Okay," Mason replies, calm and steady like he always is, quiet enough not to shatter the stillness in the air, slinging an arm around Liam's slumped shoulders and squeezing affectionately. " _Okay_."

Liam thinks it's a combination of being _certain_ that Theo's still alive -- because Lydia would _know_ if he wasn't, and even if _she_ didn't, Liam feels like _he_ would _know_ , like he would feel something _deep_ inside of him _shatter_ \-- and Mason and Lydia in the house, heartbeats steady and comforting, that pulls Liam out of his own head, numbness and pain replaced with a steely sort of determination, and a renewed, constant stream of adrenaline running through his blood. Him and Mason spend most of the day like that, shooting the shit, and trying to pass the time by pointing out increasingly bizarre antiques in the Martin house while they sober up. Around noon, Lydia finally comes upstairs into the living room, wearing what appears to be a full hazmat suit. Liam _really_ wants to ask about it, but he's also completely terrified of the answer he might get. She orders them a pizza and Liam has to fight the laugh at the look of pure _bewildered terror_ on the delivery guy's face when she opens the door to pay for it and then fight another, louder one, when, instead of removing the suit to eat, like Liam assumed she would, she just takes the hood off and puts a second pair of latex gloves over her stained original ones.

" _I just want you to know_ ," Lydia says, "that these are _completely inadvisable_ lab safety measures, and if I ever see _you_ pulling this, there _will_ be consequences." She smiles, closed-mouth but genuine. "But I am _starving_ ," she says, flipping a box open and lifting a thick wedge out. It's almost into her mouth when suddenly, her eyes snap to Liam, alarmed, "You _can't_ tell Theo," she says, worried and pleading like Liam has _never_ seen her, "I'm serious, you have to _promise_ , or he'll _never let me hear the end of it_. If he finds out, he'll _never let me live it down._ "

Thankfully, they talk her out of any binding blood rituals by promising, very solemnly, that Theo will _never_ hear of her throwing proper laboratory safety precautions to the wind. They sit on the floor around the coffee table, sprawled and unceremonious, and Liam _inhales_ two entire boxes, while Lydia and Mason do an impressive amount of damage to another, and as he watches Lydia, sitting on the floor, latex gloves covered in pizza grease and hair in complete disarray from her hazmat hood, he wonders how she _ever_ projected the image of the prim, popular, superficial Queen Bee that she pretended to be.

After the pizza, Lydia goes back down to the lab, peeling her pizza gloves off and putting her hood back on, and Liam and Mason turn on the TV, flipping through the channels. It takes about fifteen minutes for the warmth and comfort and _pizza_ to make Liam's eyelids heavy, and then he's out like a _light_ , borderline comatose. He doesn't dream, and he takes it as the mercy that it is.

\---

When he opens his eyes, it's to Lydia shaking him gently, looming over where he's sleeping on the couch. It's dark outside, the moonlight casting the Martins' living room in stark relief, spidery and sharp. In a thin sliver of light, he spots Mason, curled up into a ball on the floor, throw pillow underneath his head and blanket tucked into his body where Lydia must've draped it over him after they fell asleep.

"'t time 's it?" Liam mumbles, blinking the sleep out of his eyes and stretching his joints out until they _pop_.

"Almost nine," Lydia says, eyes dark and solemn in a way that makes Liam sit up straight.

"Something happened," he guesses, and it's not a question. She nods once, curt and perfunctory, but it's belayed by the small smile playing at her mouth.

"We found him," she says, smile widening, and the _roar_ in Liam's ears means the rest of Lydia's words -- _"go get whatever you need from your house, we're leaving in twenty"_ \-- just _barely_ register, but Liam is scrambling up, blanket falling to the floor in a twisted heap that he almost trips over, and he _crushes_ her to his chest, head tipped all the way down until his forehead is pressed to the top of her shoulder. She squeezes back, just as hard, and they stay like that, breathless with relief, absolutely _giddy_ on it, for a couple moments, before she finally pulls away, still smiling at him.

"Come on," she says, flicking her head to the door, eyes bright, even in the pitch darkness. "Let's bring him home."

\---

The ride is emphatically _not_ fun for Liam, but it's probably _exponentially_ worse for the people stuck in the car with him, and Liam feels very mature having the self-awareness to realize that. The only upside, is that the warehouse is supposed to be nothing but another storage facility, which is why it's just the six of them, instead of the entire pack and a squadron of FBI cars, because he thinks _that_ would've put them _all_ on edge, and consequently, would've made them _much_ less patient with Liam. Still, needless to say, it's a _very long_ ten hours.

Liam wouldn't let anyone take any rest stops or bathroom breaks, but to be fair, they didn't fight him that hard on it. They're almost as antsy as he is, except _he's_ the only one who feels like his heart is beating so hard, he's going to vibrate out of his goddamn skin, and he's pretty sure that Argent and Lydia are _dangerously_ close to just sedating him and keeping him taped up in the trunk for the rest of the ride. He is, once again, glad that he didn't choose to come with Kira and Malia, whose car is following closely behind them, because he's pretty sure that Malia would have absolutely _no qualms_ with duct taping his mouth shut, and tying his body to the seat.

They go through a drive-through to pick up breakfast, taking an exit in West Wendover, Nevada, sometime around four in the morning, and Liam consumes a _truly inadvisable_ amount of breakfast burritos, because Mason was right like he always is, and ninety-percent of Liam's impulse control is still somewhere in goddamn Utah. He _ignores_ the _highly_ concerned glances Scott keeps sending his way, swallowing down nearly _half_ of burrito number seven in a single, ambitious bite. Lydia looks _disgusted_ but Liam has watched her eat pizza on the floor in a still-contaminated hazmat suit, so he doesn't think she has much of a leg to stand on.

They approach Salt Lake just as the sun starts to rise, and that's when Liam starts to suspect that something's off. Because even as they draw closer and closer, Argent calling out a curt " _twenty minutes_ " as they take sharp turn on a dark corner, Liam thinks, _that can't be right_. He can feel it in his _bones_ , or rather, feel the _lack_ of it.

They're still. No buzzing, vibrating static; no ever-present hum; no constant prickling awareness of _Theo_.

They're rounding another corner, and just as the first spike of dread makes itself known in Liam's gut, he tries, "Hey, guys, I don't think--"

That's when they see it.

" _Oh my god_ ," Scott breathes, scrambling out of the car before Argent has even pulled it to a stop, and Liam follows him out, almost breaking his own ankle in his haste.

It's the correct warehouse, no doubt about that. Liam can feel it in his _gut_ , even if he doesn't know if it has more to do with _Theo's_ presence here, the fact that this was where he astral projected, or the fact that he's _seen_ the inside, and some subconscious memory is matching with the external layout. That's not the problem.

The _problem_ lies in the thick, black smoke billowing out of the windows, the warehouse in charred tatters before them. He tries to breathe through the overpowering smell of ash, which coats the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat horribly, as he hears the others getting out of their cars behind him. The horrified, hushed whispering and slamming of car doors don't even register to Liam, who thinks, _no_. He thinks, _please, no_ , and makes a desperate break for it, making for the warehouse with a helpless cry, even as the smoke _burns_ , burns _everywhere_ , and he's almost there, until Scott catches him, wrapping his arms around his body tight.

" _Liam_ ," he yells, an admonishing growl, but no less desperate. "Liam, _look_ ," he says, but Liam doesn't know what he's talking about, can barely hear his own _thoughts_ with the tangled feeling rising in his chest, the smoke rising from the warehouse, let alone hear whatever lesson _Scott_ is trying to impart on him. Scott growls, louder, and Liam slumps a little, limbs going slightly slack, but he thinks, _no_ , and he growls _back_ , just as loud, despite the wolf inside of him whining, ears pinned back. " _Please_ ," Scott says, and it's the panicked, frantic _begging_ , that finally makes Liam look to Scott, follow Scott's line of sight to their hands, Scott's clenching his own desperately tight, both red and blistered, the adrenaline rushing through Liam's blood clearly numbing the pain.

" _What . . .?"_ Liam manages, completely bewildered.

" _Wolfsbane_ ," Scott replies, soft and solemn, resting his forehead on the back of Liam's head. "It's part of what burned. There's _wolfsbane_ in the air, in the _smoke_ , and if we don't get back in the car _right now_ , we're going to have a _lot_ of trouble breathing in the next couple of minutes."

Liam thinks, _no_. He thinks, _please_ , _no_. He makes another move towards the warehouse, crying out, half-hysterical, "but _Theo_ \--"

Scott catches him again. " _He's not here_ ," Scott says, resolute, spinning Liam around to meet his eyes. "The smell of burnt flesh is . . ." he grimaces, " _distinctive_. I would be able to _smell it_." He grips Liam's shoulder, flares his eyes, grounding alpha-red, " _no one was here when this burned down._ No one _died_ in this fire."

A pitiful, frustrated, _despondent_ growl escapes Liam's throat as he flares his eyes back, even as he lets Scott drag him back to Argent's SUV and throw him into the backseat. It barely takes Argent half a second to turn around and _floor it_ , and Liam hears tires screeching horribly, as Malia, presumably, attempts to mirror the maneuver.

"I don't--" Liam tries, throat closing up as he watches the warehouse fade further and further into the distance through the rear window, something in his chest _twisting_ painfully, "I don't _understand_ , this is the _right place."_

"It _was_ ," Argent says, grave, and Liam can tell it's an agreement as much as it's a correction. Their eyes meet in the rearview mirror. "Something happened in the last twenty-four hours," he says, considering, eyes sharp and thoughtful. "That fire was a recent development." He scrubs a hand across the underside of his jaw as he takes a turn, one-handed.

" _Extenuating circumstances,_ " Liam whispers, an echo of Kira's words earlier, her small, strong hands gripping his arms tight. It earns him a curious glance from Scott.

"Then," Scott says, eyes darkly resolute and jaw set, "we better _keep looking_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:) hmmm... i wonder what could've happened............
> 
> I KNOW that this chapter had VERY little plot, okay? I'm SORRY. But don't worry, I know everyone has been _dying_ to find out what's been happening with Theo this whole time, and we'll get inside his head next week!! :DDD I'm REALLY excited about, and _very_ apologetic if this chapter was a disappointment. I have no idea why it's so long haha but I had fun writing it
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading. Tell me what you liked, what you didn't, anything at all!! All feedback is welcome :) I'm usually desensitized to my own writing after reading through it so many times, so it always makes my day to hear what other people think!
> 
> Feel free to find me on tumblr at [inabottlelikelightning](https://www.inabottlelikelightning.tumblr.com/) and scream :DDD


	6. everything i've ever let go of has claw marks on it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, I think this might be the latest I've ever posted a chapter, but my week was SO fucking busy and also this chapter was VERY difficult to write, and I got distracted by all the fantastic big bang works coming out in the past couple of days. I cranked out the last, like, 10k or something, tonight. It's another 16k monster. Also, I just want to thank you guys so, SO much for sticking with me through this. I know it's kind of hard to stay engaged w a WIP, but all of your encouragement and kind words has inspired me SO much and really helps me write. So, just, thanks! Also, we got like 800 readers on the last chapter? Holy shit!! I can't believe you guys are actually enjoying this little self-indulgent plot bunny that I fleshed out on a whim. :DDDD thanks for all your support!
> 
> This was proofread VERY sloppily so please lmk if there are any typos or whatever. Thanks! I really hope you enjoy it :D

In hindsight, it's kind of funny, because this isn't even the worst thing that's happened to him. To be honest, Theo's pretty sure it doesn't even make top twenty.

They strike when he's vulnerable, sulking at his dead sister's bridge, senses distracted. But, Theo hasn't stayed alive as a goddamn supernatural spy for _ten whole years_ just to be overpowered by a group of _laughably_ inexperienced hunters.

There are three of them and there's only one of him, and he can _feel_ the wolfsbane making it's way through his stomach, but Theo's been in tighter spots before. He could take these guys down half-dead.

 _It would be so easy to kill them_ , some detached, experienced part of Theo can't help but think, even now. Some dark, ingrained part of his identity, something he can't even help mapping out. He knows how he would do it, too; it barely takes half a second to catalogue the way in which he would tear through them. One of them isn't protecting his throat, hands held too low, and his weapons too heavy to be able to move fast enough to defend himself. A quick swipe of chimera claws would completely eviscerate his carotid. He can almost taste the arterial spray, pungent and cloying in the back of his throat. The second looks like he's never held a gun in his life. In fact, Theo's willing to bet that the safety is still on. It wouldn't take much effort to rip the gun out of his hands and discharge its contents into his chest. The third, a woman, is slightly more difficult. She looks strong, and lithe enough to be quick, and fairly experienced. But Theo easily tracks the way she slightly favors one side, cataloguing the way she's almost unconsciously trying to keep the weight off her left leg. She's standing far too close to the edge of the bridge, almost leaning on the railing. She's angled just enough for Theo to be able to kick her kneecap clean out of her leg, and send her tumbling down into the creek. _It would be so easy_ , it taunts, soothing, secure, but.

But, Theo's not really that person anymore. It would be easy, but it would take something out of him. Something he only just got back.

And then they call him _Dunbar_ , and Theo thinks, _oh_ , and after that, it's barely even a decision at all. He slumps back, and doesn't fight it when they throw him into the back of their vehicle unceremoniously, black blood sluggishly leaking from the hole in his torso.

\---

It isn't that bad, when they think he's Liam. They try to get some information out of him, but their attempts are half-hearted at best. Some sadist whips him a bit, but it's almost _hilarious_ how ineffective it is. Theo thinks it might be more for the fun of it, rather than any real hopes of getting intel out of him. They don't want information. They don't _need_ information, not when they have _bait_ as good as the McCall bitten beta, tied up and at their mercy. Theo knows what they want, because they're not subtle, and because Theo's a _strategist_. They're waiting for Scott to come and save him. They're waiting to kill the McCall beta, right in front of his alpha, and then go for the alpha's head when he's weakened; take out the kingpin right then and there -- the True Alpha, the hope of the supernatural.

Theo, bizarrely, _trusts_ the McCall pack to find him, to come after him. Not because _he's_ pack, or anything like that, but because they're kind of, like, _friends_ (and also Theo's one of their chief strategists, and frankly, they can’t afford to lose him) and besides, the McCall pack would be the type to come, even if they weren't. Even if it's an objectively _terrible_ idea and the risks _far_ outweigh the rewards. Theo just has to wait this out, and everything should be fine.

\---

Two and half days in, Theo starts to _worry_ , because according to his calculations, they _should_ be here right now. Unless, something has gone horribly wrong, and there's a _reason_ they can't come. Even as they keep him strapped to the table, cut up, anxiety pools in his stomach. He doesn't know _what's_ keeping them, but if it's keeping _all_ of them, there's no way it can be good. He feels, abruptly, _useless_ , stuck here, incapable, while the pack is out there, fighting for their lives. But, he can't leave, as long as they still think he's _Liam_.

It was supposed to take the McCall pack two days to get there, and it should take the hunters around _four_ to get suspicious. As long as these two margins don't overlap, everything is salvageable.

What he doesn't expect is Monroe to come _herself_ , vindictive and vengeful and ready to see Scott McCall's head roll. The look of recognition on her face makes the dread pool in his stomach. It's the third day. The pack isn't here, and Monroe's hunters _know_ , and Theo's time is rapidly dwindling, he can feel it slipping between his fingers.

\---

" _No one has even made a_ move _to leave Beacon Hills_ ," Monroe says, and all at once, Theo _understands_. The disappointment and surprise is almost _embarrassing._ The feeling of _betrayal_ is absolutely _mortifying_. Theo shouldn't feel _betrayed_ , it’s completely ridiculous. He understands that they're not coming, and he understands _why_ they're not coming. It's the only course of action that makes _strategic_ sense, technically. It's nothing personal, he thinks. Unless it _is_. But even, then, _fair enough_.

 _"Do you think they would_ thank me?" Monroe asks, " _for taking the_ trash out _for them?"_ and Theo almost laughs, thinking half-hysterically, _your guess is as good as mine_ , even as he keeps his face perfectly impassive.

\---

Monroe spits, " _experiment_ " and Theo's blood runs _cold_. It wouldn't be a problem, normally, because Theo's had more surgeries to his body than days in his life, so, really, it's not a big deal. The problem _is_ , Theo isn't quite the same since he came back from Hell, escaped the Dread Doctors. Something about all of it scraped him raw, chipped and chipped away at his strong outer shell until he was exposed, vulnerable, like a nerve. He's not conditioned for this, like he once was, and as the first clinical cut of the cold, familiar scalpel, even as the pathetic pleas escape from his mouth, he's helpless to do anything but let the panic overwhelm him completely, as the warehouse fades away.

\---

_Theo was an accident, and he’s the reason his mother drinks, his sister has to settle for public school, and his father works two jobs. He knows this because his mother tells him so, in no uncertain terms, when he’s seven years old._

_"I'm_ sorry _," he says, like he_ means it _, and trying his hardest not to cry, because the_ last time _someone caught him, his father took one long, pained look at him, and snapped, "The hell do_ you _have to cry about? I'm the one breaking my own back over here," and Theo didn't get any food for a while. His mother laughs, high and carefree, and the sound brings a small smile to Theo's mouth, even if it stems from her wine-induced haze._

 _"It's not your fault, darling," she says, carding her hand sloppily through his hair. He relaxes into the touch, letting his eyes slide shut. "When I went to the clinic, they said I was_ too far along to stop it! _Can you_ believe _that?" she snorts. It's a story Theo has heard before. He could finish it himself, because it always ends the same way. "I drank a_ lot _more after that. Tried to let nature," she waves her hand in a vague gesture, sloppy and uncoordinated, "take its course. But, of course, it didn't work." She smiles, bright, but it looks wrong on her face. False. Her eyes are glassy and just barely focused. "Because, you're. Still. Here." she punctuates every word with a sharp_ , _slightly vicious poke to Theo's right cheekbone. He doesn't flinch away. She huffs, resigned. Exhausted. "Should've gone for the vodka," she murmurs absently, "I was always far too partial to wine."_

_There's a bruise on his cheekbone when he catches sight of himself in the bathroom mirror. He stands there and he stares at it for hours, poking at the green-yellow spot reflexively. It takes days to fade, but that's fine because nobody asks him about it anyways._

Theo doesn't remember most of his childhood, because the Doctors took those memories from him, like they did with anything that they suspected would interfere with his ability to work. But, for some reason, they left this one. Theo doesn't like to think too hard or too long about why.

_He meets the Doctors almost exactly a year later._

\---

_The first time the Doctors cut him open, contrary to what most everyone believes, isn’t when they’re making him a genetic chimera with his sister's heart. It's much before that, when they have to appraise their potential investment; look at the state of his organs and assess the quality of his body, before they take the time and effort to turn him into one of their trials._

_He's eight years old and nothing but human. They cut him open and his limbs are slack, but his eyes are wide open. He doesn't know how much experience they have operating on humans, because even at eight, he doesn't think they've used enough anesthetic. It's pain like he's never felt before, white-hot and all consuming, he can barely see straight. He's strapped down and his limbs don't have any feeling in them, but Theo screams and screams and screams for hours, until he finally passes out. The blank darkness is a welcome reprieve._

_\---_

_He wakes up to them looming over him. He's not strapped down anymore, but they terrify him. He tries not to show it, because he's pretty sure they won't fix his stupid broken body if they find out that he's actually weak. One of them says, tone flat and mechanical, "Compatible," and Theo's so thankful he could cry. They say they can fix him, but there's something he needs do to first, something to prove himself, something that will_ let _him become better. He says, wide-eyed and breathless with the possibility of being more than half-alive,_ "Anything", _asks, innocent,_ "what do you need me to do?"

_They tell him. His heart sinks, but it turns out he doesn't need it anyways, because he's getting a new one._

_\---_

_His parents don't let him do much outside of go to school and do the chores, because everything seems to exacerbate his . . . disability, and contribute to their hospital bills. There's some talk of him getting a job to pull his weight, but Theo is shot down and laughed out of a couple supermarkets and grocery stores when he asks. He spends most of his time mowing a lot of lawns, right up until the day it gives him an asthma attack. His parents are disappointed, but then again, he's never seen them be anything else._

_It's painful to let Tara die, but it's not difficult. All he has to do is stand there and wait. That's all Theo's done his whole entire life. It's not difficult to do it for another hour and half._

_“She wants you to have her heart,” they say. Theo can’t tell if they’re lying, but the grown ups around him have never bothered to lie before._

_The Pathologist, when he checks Tara for a pulse, says, "Success." Theo almost smiles, before he catches himself. Maybe he can do_ something _right after all._

_\---_

_They replace the heart in his body, and it's the most pain he's ever been in, in his entire life. It's surreal to_ feel _his own heart being ripped out of his chest_. _It's the worst thing he's ever felt, and he hopes he never has to go through it again._

_\---_

_He passes out from the pain again, and when he wakes up, he's alone, albeit hooked up to machines. He feels different. Stronger. Like maybe, he can actually breathe without choking on his own lungs every once in while._ Euphoria _rushes through him, thick and heady, and he can’t help but laugh, giddy, as he draws in deep, cleansing breaths._

_He rips the needles stuck in his arms and the clamps attached to parts of his appendages, hops off the table, and moves to exit the tunnel, the way he's done so many times already._

_He's stopped by the Geneticist, as she materializes in front of his path. "No," she says, firm. Cold. "You're coming with us."_

_There's nothing left for him in Beacon Hills anyways. He doesn't put up a fuss. He goes._

_\---_

Monroe slices him open, mechanically but _clumsily_. She's not experienced in this like the Doctors are, like _Theo_ is. She has no idea what she's doing, and it's something that he can worry about only distantly, as the forefront of his mind is completely, _humiliatingly_ blank with panic.

_\---_

_The Doctors have another ongoing trial, one they started before Theo was even in the picture. Theo meets her the day they leave Beacon Hills, because they make her Theo's responsibility, handing him two train tickets and the location of the new operating theatre up in Quebec. She's very small, just barely a toddler. He wonders, briefly, how they used to transport her places, before Theo got there, but he's too terrified of the Doctors and too scared of the answer to ask. Theo's afraid he'll break her the second he hoists her up into his arms, but she just giggles and makes a clumsy, curious grab for his nose. He can't stop the smile that breaks across his face._

\---

_She's trial one-hundred-fourteen, to Theo's one-hundred-fifty-seven, but he can't bring himself to call her that like the Doctors do. He doesn't know what her name was, before she got into this mess, but he calls her Teena, because it's close enough, and it makes her eyes light up. Theo has a strong, sneaking suspicion that her mother was trial one-hundred-thirteen, or somewhere close, and that Teena was cut right out of her stomach. It's the worst thing he can imagine, to not even have a_ chance _at a normal life, to be stuck like_ he _is, but from birth. Except, he asked for this, because he was broken and weak, and nobody else wanted him. Teena never had the choice. It makes him hold her tighter, on the train ride, and for much longer afterward._

_\---_

_He discovers in Quebec why the Doctors still consider her a failure. The full moon comes, and she goes absolutely_ feral _, loses her mind like Theo's never seen before, raw, animalistic, desperate, as she attacks the bars of her cage, eyes flashing a yellow so bright that it's nearly_ white _. It terrifies Theo, how little human there is left in her eyes. She doesn't seem to remember any of it afterward, just as bright as she usually is, even though her body is covered in dirt and scratch marks. Theo thinks this may be the only blessing she was granted in her entire life._

 _They give her something for it, injecting new, modified serums into her every single day to make her more stable, just like they inject things into Theo to make him stronger, because he's barely even a success -- even as a were-wolf-coyote, he's still weak. He still doesn't know what the Doctors are going to do when a trial results in both stability_ and _strength._

_Trial one-fifty-eight, one-fifty-nine, one-sixty, and one-sixty-one are all deemed failures. It's Theo's job to dispose of the bodies. It's difficult, because some of them are adults, and they're almost too heavy for him, but Theo's crafty now, like he wasn't before. He finds a way, and he does it without complaint. He obtains information for the Doctors, but mostly, he just lurks in the background._

_A couple months into the Quebec operation, the Doctors become interested in the prospect of an_ anchor _. Theo has never heard of it, but it doesn't sound good._

_\---_

_Theo is supposed to be her anchor, according to the Doctors, because apparently a close personal connection is required. Theo thinks he might be the only personal connection Teena has had in her life, but he doesn't say that. He just does what they tell him, like he always does, and follows her into the cage on the night of the full moon, dread pooling in his gut. He hopes he actually_ is _her anchor, for both their sakes_.

_He's not._

_When he comes to, in the morning, the floor of the cage is covered in blood. He can only see out of one eye, but he's a lot more worried by Teena, cowering in the corner, deathly quiet. She's solemn in a way that someone as small as her should never be, and in a way that makes Theo suspect that for the first time, she retained her memories. It makes him ill._

_He scoots forward, ignoring the twinges in his limbs, and shoving what he thinks is his gallbladder, back into his ripped-open torso, when it threatens to spill out. When he reaches her side of the cage, he pulls her close, onto his lap, and she_ melts _into him, starting to cry softly, as she rests her cheek on the one clean spot on Theo's chest. Theo doesn't have a heart, not anymore, but if he did, he thinks it would break, right then and there. He places a kiss atop her wispy golden curls, and it makes her cry a little harder. He holds her tighter, trying not to think of_ Tara.

_\---_

_A year passes, and so do trials one-sixty-two through one-sixty-nine. It takes Theo three months to regain sight in his left eye, and they don't try anymore anchor experiments. Theo gets stronger, but only marginally. He spends most of his time gathering the intel that the Doctors ask him for -- the Demers pack, the Bouchard pack, the Vadeboncœur pack. Gathering information is all he_ can _do, because he's still young and fairly inexperienced. He's heard murmurs from the Doctors about training him up, but they haven't taken any action yet, so he's left idle. Dreading._

_Teena gets worse._

_\---_

  
  


_Trial one-seventy: failure._

_Trial one-seventy-one: failure._

_Trial one-seventy-two: Partial success, feral behavior, termination required._

_\---_

Theo doesn't _know_ what Monroe is using on him; he's resistant to a _lot_ of different strains of wolfsbane thanks to years of the Doctors' experiments, but if what she said is right -- _genetically modified_ \-- the effects on his body should be new and exciting. It's not like it _hurts_ , but the feeling of it, familiar and _cutting_ , sends him straight back to the operating theatre, unconditioned and inexperienced and _young_. The Surgeon is almost superimposed on top of Monroe as she uses the forceps to clamp down on something _inside_ him. He doesn't know if it's a _real_ memory that this just _triggered_ , or if he's losing his fucking mind, seeing things that aren't really there like he does so often since he came back from Hell.

_\---_

_Theo knows the Vadeboncœur pack takes in strays. He knows the Doctors are losing patience with Teena, and losing faith in him. They call her a failure despite her strength, and they call him weak despite his control. He_ would _dread the day they finally decide to do something about it, but at eleven, he's too old and hard for dread anymore. After all, dread is a child's game, and Theo hasn't been a child since he watched his sister drown in a creek._

_He plans._

_\---_

_There's something important happening on the night of the full moon, but Theo's not important enough to be briefed on it. The Doctors are leaving for the night, and leave him with a syringe of mercury. Teena is strapped onto the table, unconscious._

_It would've taken the Surgeon less than a second to depress it into her neck. They make Theo do it instead, saying something about_ "Condition terminal." _It's something Theo expected, because by now, the Doctors are somewhat predictable in their detached, clinical nature. They'll be back in the morning, and by then she should be dead. It's obvious what they're asking him to do; what they_ expect _him to do. It doesn't make him feel any less sick._

 _It's so_ clearly _a_ test _, for Theo to prove that he's strong-willed. That he's useful._

_Theo has been weak since he's been born and he's been useless for just as long. He's been a failure all his life, and he's not about to change now. He won't pass the test._

_He's been the Doctors’ puppet for a bit now, and before that, he was his parents'. For once, he ignores the orders given to him; thinks,_ I'm done.

_He takes Teena from the operating theatre under the cover of night. Her head lolls in his hold. He grips her tighter, footsteps quiet on the damp pavement of the tunnels._

_\---_

_Genavié Vadeboncœur asks to hold Teena, and Theo acquiesces, even though it takes everything in him to let her go. She smiles down at Teena's small, sleeping body, slow and genuine, but Theo's too old to mirror it._

_"She'll need the bite," he explains, "she doesn't have enough control otherwise."_

_Genavié nods, sage, before handing Teena to her seeming second-in-command, a bulky man who cradles her gently in his enormous arms._

_"Thank you," she says, the tone in her voice and the smile on her face nothing betraying nothing but diplomatic politeness. "We'll take it from here." And then they're turning around, leaving him completely alone in an alley in Montreal, quiet and inconspicuous like the deal is over._

_Theo calls out, desperately confused,_ "Wait!" _and she turns, slowly, eyebrow raised. Probably at the insolence, but Theo has never been in a pack, he isn't_ completely _sure exactly_ how _he's supposed to address an alpha in the first place, so he doesn't know how to fix it. "I thought . . ."_

 _There's a moment of silence, before her eyebrows drop, and she seems to realize what Theo doesn't say. She clicks her tongue, shaking her head._ "Do you know," _she asks, eyes narrowed, calculating,_ "what Vadeboncœur means?"

"Go with a good heart," _Theo replies dutifully , and the anxiety begins to pool into his stomach, but Theo's too old to be nervous, so he ignores it. Instead, he continues to hold the unwavering gaze of the head of one of the most powerful packs this far north, chin tipped up. Defiant._

"Yes," _Genavié nods,_ "exactly. Does that sound like somewhere you would belong?" _Her eyes are narrowed, scrutinizing, head tilted. Theo feels oddly pinned under her sharp gaze._

 _He blinks. He swallows._ "Uh, I--"

"The girl," _she starts, as the corner of her mouth twitches, helplessly fond, as she catches sight of Teena out of the corner of her eye. Theo knows the feeling. "_ She's just a child. She still has a chance. We can help her. But you?" _her lip curls up into a sneer. Theo's stolen heart plummets all the way down into his stomach._ "We've heard about you. We know what you've done." _She bares her teeth, eyes flaring a violent red. Theo shrinks away instinctively, back hitting the alley wall._ "We have no place for you," _she hisses, mouth full of fangs._ "You're not welcome here, chimera."

\---

_Theo makes his way back to the operating theatre, vaguely numb. He has a brief flare of panic, a flash of a thought that tells him to run and hide, pick some pockets, sneak onto a train, keep lurking in the shadows where they’ll never find him. But, Theo's eleven now, and too old to be naïve. They'd find him anyways._

_When he enters the theatre, he disposes of the mercury quickly. Maybe, for once, luck will be on his side. It's not completely out of the realm of possibility that Theo killed her and disposed of the body before they reached. Her body is small, after all, it would barely take him an hour, because he has it down now, practiced and efficient. He hopes they take the scene at face value, and move on._

_They don't._

_\---_

Theo's slipping, _drowning_ , barely coherent, because he's _soft_ now apparently, and all it takes is a dull surgical knife to the stomach for him to be overwhelmed by memories. Monroe's still _talking_ , saying things that are _important_ probably, and Theo should be _listening_ because the information could be _useful_ , but instead his ears are ringing, and pathetically, he blacks out, just a little.

_\---_

_He wakes up from a fitful sleep, and they're cutting him open. It's not the first time it's happened, since it's not like the Doctors particularly_ care _if he's asleep or not during surgeries, but this one seems different. Vicious. Vindictive. Theo assumed, moronically, that the Doctors were too clinical and uncaring to bestow something as subjective and_ human _as a punishment. He was wrong._

 _They're secretive about their research, because their findings are a widely-sought after rumor, which is why they terminate the failed trials, but Theo didn't think the loss of Teena would cause_ this _. And it_ is _a loss; there's no way to get her back now. She's under the protection of a pack that's too powerful, and she's probably a_ real _supernatural creature by now. Getting her back would be more trouble than she's worth._

 _Theo can't tell if they were holding back this entire time and just_ now _decided to conduct this experiment, or if this is personal, and just designed to hurt._

_It works._

_His torso is completely cut open, and they paint the inside of his body with mountain ash, forcing pounds of it down his throat and into his lungs, documenting its progression. He screams for five days straight, but they don't stop. All he can taste is ash, and he has lost feeling in his limbs. He can barely see anything past the spots that dance in front of his eyes On the fourth day, he bites his tongue off completely. The Geneticist reattaches it a couple hours later. Theo thinks she might have a soft spot for him._

_There's nothing except_ pain. _On the sixth day, Theo passes out. He thinks he's dead, until he opens his eyes again. He doesn't know how much time has passed, but the moon feels like it's in a significantly different phase, the animals under his skin pricking uneasily. They're still cutting into him. He doesn't think there's anything inside left to cut into, but it's fine. He doesn't mind. Nothing hurts anymore._

_\---_

_Their punishment has some unintended results. For one, it makes him resistant to mountain ash, which not even the_ Doctors _had anticipated. This leads to many, many repeat trials, with similarly painful substances._

_It also makes the surgeries easier._

_Theo doesn't squirm anymore, doesn't scream, doesn't have to be strapped down. During one of their mistletoe-experiments, the Geneticist is busy. They make Theo hold some of their tools, as they cut into his bone marrow, trading out the instruments in his hand periodically. The one after that, the Pathologist is out, and so Theo actually has to_ assist _, holding things open and clamping things down and_ cutting _things open himself._

_He doesn't know if it's supposed to be part of his training, but Theo learns a lot._

_He feels empty in the days following, and he wonders, if there's anything left inside of him, or if everything has rotted away completely, blackened and decayed, removed to be replaced with something parascientific, superficially manufactured. He feels empty. Hollow._

_\---_

_Theo turns twelve._

_Trial one-seventy-three: failure._

_Trial one-seventy-four: failure._

_Trial one-seventy-five: failure._

_\---_

_They head to Moscow, and finally make good on his promise to train him up._

_The man who teaches him is called Wurudlac, and he's the most ruthless being Theo has ever met. Theo can't tell what he is, he's pretty sure it's not human. He doesn't ask, because it's not his place._

_They spend a year there, for Theo to stop being weak. It’s absolutely grueling and extremely painful, even though Theo's too old for pain these days._

_It works. By the time they're done, Theo is a machine. For the first time in his_ life _, he's strong. Useful._

 _He can control his heartbeat, his chemosignals. Theo isn't sure he actually_ has _chemosignals anymore, but he learns to make it_ seem _like he does, and he's pretty sure that's_ _good enough. He can charm a pack, fool an alpha, knock a man's eyeball straight out of his head with barely a flick of his wrist. He can plan a successful siege of a town and probably the overthrowing of a government of a small country. He speaks five languages, but he doesn't talk to anyone. Theo hasn't been outside the operating theatre in six months. He thinks he misses the sunrise, when he remembers that he has the capacity to wish things were different._

_\---_

_Bucharest._

_Theo steals a dead emissary's journal from a vault, and spends his fourteenth birthday just barely evading arrest._

_Trial one-seventy-six: failure._

_Paris._

_Theo successfully infiltrates two different packs, playing them against each other. They don't uncover his identity until it's too late. He escapes with their alpha's claws, pulled right from the fingernails of his unconscious body, in the midst of the chaos._

_Trial one-seventy-seven: partial success, prior to self-detonation._

_Bangkok._

_Theo kills fifteen people. He doesn't particularly want to, but he hasn't done what he_ wanted _in years. He doesn't_ enjoy _it, but he doesn't_ not _enjoy it either. It is what it is, and Theo does what he has to do. He barely feels it when he pulls a clawed, severed hand from where it was impaled in the meat of his thigh, making his way back to the Doctors._

It's only years later that he actually reflects on this memory. He wonders if it was actually something he did, or if it was one of the Doctors' implants, because they did that sometimes; gave him memories. Not _nearly_ as often as they would take them away, but. There was something almost _out-of-body surreal_ about strangling a man with his own intestines, a kind of dream-like trance that Theo doesn't wonder about until later. Maybe the memory was fake, maybe it wasn't. Theo thinks it might not make a difference. Maybe, _nothing_ looks real any more after you murder fifteen people with your bare hands.

_Trial one-seventy-eight: partial success, prior to auto-termination._

_Mumbai._

_Theo infiltrates another pack, but it goes downhill very quickly. He's an outsider right from the beginning, and they suspect him almost immediately. He's lucky to escape with his head. The Doctors aren't happy, but then again, Theo isn't feeling very happy himself these days._

_Trial one-seventy-nine: failure._

_\---_

_Theo wakes up with a_ pounding _head in a hotel room, with broken ribs, and no recollection of how he got there. He's pretty sure he woke up from a_ deep _sleep, but he's still_ exhausted. _Theo feels grimy and as he raises a hand to scrub over his eyes, he realizes that it's covered in blood. Both of them are. Most of his torso is, actually, white-dress shirt_ completely _ruined, he notices, as he tries to sit up and take in his surroundings._

 _He doesn't even know_ where _he is, but he thinks it might be somewhere in Eastern Europe, judging by the two-toned police siren that's getting louder and louder._

 _He thinks_ , Okay, this is fine _, because honestly, he's been in worse spots. He takes a deep, bracing breath, before steadying himself and going to the bathroom to try and wash some of the entrails off his arms._

 _When he enters, the bathroom absolutely_ reeks _of blood, and Theo needs to cover his nose and mouth in order to not gag._

 _There are three men in the bathtub. Or rather, there are three_ bodies _of men in the bathtub. They're dressed just as nice as Theo is, but caked in blood and grime, and Theo notes, clinically, that the only pulse in the entire room is_ his _._

_He's in a hotel room that he didn't book, in a country that he doesn't know, and three corpses in the bathroom. Theo's tired. He thinks the police might be after him, and he thinks he might have killed those men. Both thoughts trouble him significantly less than they probably should._

This is a nightmare, _Theo thinks, shutting his eyes as the sirens get_ even _louder,_ nothing more. _And so he drops back down onto the bed, draws the covers up to his chin, and falls back asleep._

_\---_

_Arkansas._

_Trial one-eighty: failure._

_\---_

_The Doctors still won't tell him any information. Theo's completely trained up, but apparently, he's still not important enough to have his questions answered. They use him like an attack dog, brutal and uncaring. He thinks after_ this _much time, he at least deserves to know_ why _they need some of the things they make him risk his neck for. He gets bolder, asks more questions, gets his head drilled into (literally, unfortunately), but still doesn't stop. Theo is too old to be treated like a feral child locked in a cage, stuck on a leash, muzzled and collared. Theo is_ done.

_It's not the same as when he was younger. This time, Theo is strong._

_He plans._

_\---_

_Theo knows about the Abaroa pack, mostly because the Doctors avoid them like the goddamn_ plague _. It makes him almost_ morbidly _curious, and Theo's clever enough now, knows how to get information from back channels and how to make intel trades without getting shanked behind an inner-city 7-Eleven. He's not as naïve as he was when he tried for a place with the Vadeboncœurs. Theo knows who he is now, and what he can do. He knows his place in this world, and it's it may be down in the sewers, but it doesn’t_ have _to be_ these _sewers._

 _Arkansas is as far South as the Doctors have ever dared to venture. Theo figured out, through a lot of dodgy third-, fourth-, and fifth-hand accounts how much supernatural_ dissent _there is in the South, and the Abaroas dominate most of the territory along the border. Theo surmises, according to the stories, the Abaroa alpha could rip the Surgeon's head, straight from his body, mask and all. The thought is an appealing one._

 _Arkansas is closer than they've ever gotten before, and the Doctors are careful,_ much _more careful than they've been in the past. They're playing with fire, and they know it. Arkansas is Theo's chance._

_\---_

_Inner-circle Abaroa pack meetings take place at the alpha's estate, a sprawling ranch mansion in Celina, Texas. Theo has to shatter the bones in a man's pelvis to get this information, but he's done worse for less._

_The house_ \-- mansion _, really -- is_ abundantly _nicer than the disease-ridden back alleys and consistently-damp sewer tunnels and shitty inner-city warehouses that Theo has spent the most of his adolescence in, and it throws him, just a little._

 _It's a pain in the ass to get that far out into the country, but it's not_ that _difficult to get close. The dogs don't bother him in his full-shift form, even though he's pretty sure they can tell that there's something not quite right, because of course they can. He manages to take out enough of the west side of the protection detail before he has to shift back and pull on some clothes._

 _The hardest part is actually_ finding _them, because the house is fucking_ enormous _. He wanders through, like, four buildings, before his ears finally catch the heartbeats, and that's when he springs into action, because if he can hear them,_ they _can hear_ him.

 _Cisco "Despiadado" Abaroa is lounging by the pool, lazy and entitled in a way that pisses Theo the_ fuck _off, and it's quick work to place for him to place sharpened claws right at his jugular, body pinned to the glass door looking into the living room of the main house. He struggles, reflexively, but Theo has been doing this a_ long _time, and he presses them in harder, just the right amount of pressure for Cisco to bare his neck info a forced submission. Theo's pretty sure he heard his nose_ crunch _against the glass, and the wolves inside the living room have all jumped to their feet, snarling, eyes flaring as they assess the situation, but standing perfectly still. At the head of the room, still seated, legs crossed, is Gervasio Abaroa, eyes an assessing, unbothered brown as he watches his son whine pathetically up against the glass, in a way that, Theo thinks uncharitably, couldn't be_ further _from "Despiadado". Ruthless._

_Gervasio is the type of deathly still that would've frayed Theo's nerves, if he was younger, less experienced._

_But Theo's not the same terrified,_ useless _piece of shit. Theo's spent_ years _lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike. Theo knows how to be still too._

_They stare, for a while. Theo thinks he's either going to come out of this situation a free man, or a dead one. There's no in between, but Theo has been living in between for far too long. Either way, it will be an improvement._

_Gervasio's lips flicker up, just the slightest amount, barely even a microexpression, and something in Theo lifts._

_\---_

_He has to fight Gervasio's niece in a field as some kind of twisted audition, because as Theo has come to discover, packs are a goddamn cliché like that. Carlotta is a lot more of a challenge than Cisco was, quick and clever, flexible and adaptable, but Theo was trained by what he's pretty sure was an ex-KGB vampire. She's stronger than him, like almost everyone is, but it doesn't matter, because he's too quick. He sees her move before she does, dodges her strikes, measures her blows, calculates her own, and she's on the ground in ten minutes, bloodied and exhausted. He get in a few strikes, and she gets in a couple better ones, but in the end, the pain stops her from getting up, and nothing can stop Theo from getting up any longer. He's too desperate._

_They're watching, speechless, as he catches his breath, sweaty and panting in the Texas heat. His hands are covered in blood, and he can't feel his left arm, which he's vaguely alarmed about, until he realizes that his shoulder is just dislocated. He pops it back into it's socket cleanly, dusting the dirt and dried blood off his pants._

_A short, frowning man is the first to approach them. Theo can't recognize people by face, it's not like werewolves can be photographed, and he doesn’t have the means to pay for that level of information anyways, but his stance_ screams _consigliere, so Theo's assuming this is Arturo. No one knows his last name, or where he's from, or really anything about him, other than that the Abaroas were just another small southern pack until Arturo came along, and now they control the entire southern US border. Physically, he's not very intimidating; balding and stout. But, his eyes are the deadest Theo has ever seen, and he's spend a significant portion of his childhood disposing of failed experiment cadavers. They're so cold, so empty, that Theo almost has to fight a shiver under the scrutiny._

"That was very impressive," _he says, eyes narrowed. Theo doesn't reply, just nods, embarassingly, basking a bit in the praise. Arturo's eyes shift to his shoulder._ "You didn't flinch," _he notes, assessing._ "Did that hurt?"

 _Theo_ preens _, just a bit, because the thing_ is _, Arturo, the goddamn consigliere of the fucking_ Abaroas _genuinely sounds_ impressed _. And no one had ever been impressed with Theo for as long as he could remember._ "No," _he replies, cocky._

 _He should've clocked Gervasio's considering look right away, the way his eyes narrowed and head tilted, but he didn't, because he was a little high and dizzy the_ hope _and the_ praise _and he didn't have his guards up like he should have._

 _Maybe in some other universe, he could've been happy with the Abaroas. Accepted and useful and part of the family. Maybe he could've worked his way up, eventually become some kind of_ caporegime _or something, maybe even a real bitten beta. Maybe in that universe he would've been safe and protected for once in his life, because no one, not even the Doctors, could touch the Abaroas. But it wasn't in this one._

_Because that one, dreaded syllable, would come to ruin everything. Theo has spent a lot of time burying bodies, but with a single word, he dug his own grave._

\---

_Carlotta is his caporegime, and technically he's supposed to report to her, which is fine, because she's far too level-headed to hold a grudge, except, surprisingly, he gets most of his instructions from Arturo and Gervasio themselves. He would've thought that they would be too important to spend so long communicating with someone who's just_ barely _a soldier. A soldier on a_ trial run _at that, not even actually part of the pack yet._

_As it turns out, the dissent in the south has been mounting rapidly. Arturo isn't human enough to have his thoughts splayed across his face, but Gervasio is far too self-assured to be good at hiding his emotions. They're desperate._

You have a special job, _they say_ , different from anyone else in the pack. Our enemies are rising up, planting seeds of discord in some of the further territory.

 _They say_ , only you can do this. Nobody else has the power. This is how you become part of the pack.

\---

_Theo doesn't get a pack tattoo, because Gervasio says he's too young. Theo's fifteen years old, but he doesn't think he's been_ too young _in_ years _. He doesn't say that out loud, but he's pretty sure his face conveys pure skepticism, because Gervasio laughs, a low, throaty chuckle._

 _Theo's job is kind of a secret from the rest of the family, because they say they can't let_ anybody _know, in case word gets out. He thinks they might be trying to turn him into some kind of enforcer, up until they give him his first assignment, and then his second, and then his third._

 _His job is less kicking ass, and more getting his ass kicked, because it turns out, your enemies don't give a_ fuck _what information you discover inside their home base, if they don't think you're going to escape the encounter alive. He proposes the idea that he just_ sneaks _in, like he spent so long doing, except he can’t exactly explain_ how _he got so good at doing it, because it's not like he told the Abaroas about the Doctors or his life before this. They don't even know his real name. They_ definitely _don't know that he's a chimera, because as rumors of the Doctors spread, the interest in their research grows, and Theo's pretty sure some people would literally_ kill _to be able to harvest his organs. He has the growing suspicion that he's worth more dead than alive. And besides, they say they don't want him to make a mess. He's supposed to get caught, get information, and escape, undetected._

 _Theo gets captured in Arizona three times, and then in New Mexico four. He picks some pockets in Louisiana (because it's not like the Abaroa standard allowance_ covers _a lot of the shit he needs, especially since he's supposed to give them an_ expense _report, and his job is a goddamn_ secret _) and has to get electrocuted to within and inch of his_ life _to find out that the Shreveport alpha has been sick for_ months _, and the pack has been hiding it in order to put up a strong front, lest others try to fill the power vacuum. That little finding accidentally destabilizes the region for a bit and instigates something of a minor revolution that Theo spends the better part of three months trying to clean up. When it's over, most of the Louisiana packs are too small in numbers to put up much of a protest when the Abaroas begin to expand the borders of their territory. Gervasio pats him on the shoulder, takes him home to Celina._

_He reminds Theo of his father. It's not necessarily a good thing._

_\---_

_They're sitting in Gervasio's study, Theo giving him a standard report of his activities since he's not allowed to tell Carlotta was he's up to, when Theo finally asks him about it, why it's a job only_ he _could do, and Gervasio's eyes flick to his own, assessing, like he was deciding whether he would actually tell Theo the answer. There's a long period of silence in which Theo doesn't fidget, but instead, just stares him down._

"Because," _Gervasio finally answers,_ "you are the strongest. The least vulnerable." _He shakes his head._ "If anyone else had your job, I would never be able to concentrate. I would always feel their pain, their fear, up here." _He gestures at his head, and Theo inhales, sharp._

"Bonds," _Theo breathes, a realization._ "I'm--?" _he tries, before he has to stop, and swallow to prevent what promises to be a_ very _humiliating voice crack._ "I'm part of the _pack_?"

 _Gervasio smiles, just a little. "You have_ more _than proven yourself,_ tieso _. Of course you are." And then, his eyes flare red, and something inside Theo's head_ yanks _, just a gentle tug, and he has to keep his chest tensed tight in order to keep all the breath in his lungs that threatens to shudder out, awed._

Pack, _Theo thinks, astonished._ Family.

\---

_Theo kind of likes the Abaroas. The inner-circle members are all a little full of themselves and stuck up, but Theo thinks he might be too if he'd spend his life as a member of one of the most powerful packs in the south, sprawling ranch mansions and southern wealth and all. He likes the caporegimes, because they all have a kind of powerful energy surrounding them, unshakeable in their self-assuredness and level-headedness. The soldiers are mostly refugees like him, and he gets along with them just fine at family dinners, even though they make some_ very _pointed asides about how much time Gervasio spends_ personally _with him. They think he's fucking Gervasio, like some kind of goddamn fifteen-year-old refugee sugar baby, but Theo ignores them for the most part, because he's been called worse. He doesn't know if fucking fifteen-year-old boys is a thing that Gervasio actually_ does _, but he never lays a hand on Theo, thankfully, so Theo doesn't worry about it too much._

 _No one says anything to him directly, but he's pretty sure it's just because the rumors of_ just _how badly he beat Carlotta Abaroa at his audition have expanded into some kind of cryptid rumor, and they're kind of terrified of him. Theo's the youngest one there, besides the babies, and he has learned to stand his_ goddamn _ground._

 _All in all, even with his ass getting kicked on the regular, it's_ much _better than the Doctors. He sees the sunlight on a regular basis and he's_ never _woken up with a spontaneous surgery and he_ always _has someone to talk to, to fill the noise, when the screaming inside his head gets too loud. He feels a lot less empty these days, a lot more human. He thinks, maybe he could be happy here. Happiness is a concept that he hasn't visited in a very long time._

_\---_

_He thinks about Teena and going up north to visit her sometimes. She should be about five by now. It seems like a solid idea for about half a second, before he realizes that she wouldn't remember him, she was too young. And that was the_ best _case scenario, because the alternative was, that she_ does _remember her time with the Doctors, and in that case, Theo would just remind her of the_ worst _years of her life._

 _Every two months, when he stays at the Celina house during his break, he buys a train ticket to Canada. It's the same routine. He buys a ticket, packs his things, places it on his dresser, spends the entire night staring at it, mind racing and heart pounding. The train is an early morning one, usually, and Theo watches the sun start to rise, peeking over the horizon. He'll think,_ you need to go _now_ if you want to make it. _And then he won't move, sitting stock still on the bed, hands folded underneath his chin and eyes unfocused, as the sun continues its upward descent. At noon, he'll finally rise, snatch the ticket up, scoff at his own_ cowardice, _his own_ stupidity, _and methodically shred the ticket into little pieces, before depositing the carnage in the third drawer in his nightstand. It's_ filled _with ripped paper, the corpses of journeys that never happened._

_\---_

_Theo spends his sixteenth birthday in El Paso, getting flayed to within an inch of his_ life _in a barn, by a mercenary-vigilante-type group filled with weres too bitter about being bitten and too sardonic toward the supernatural to call themselves a pack. They call themselves_ Los Hijos de San Pascualito -- _the children of some kind of vengeance deity, as far as Theo can tell -- and they're not the_ meanest _group Theo's ever been half-beaten to death by, but it's honestly a close thing._

_It's Theo's sixteenth birthday when everything goes to hell._

_He's two days into a four day operation, when he hears the cars screech outside, smells the wolfsbane, the gunpowder, has the presence of mind to think, succinctly,_ Oh, fuck _, before the hunters are storming the barn._

 _A woman, tall and dark haired, pulls Theo out of the chair, where he collapses forward with a small noise, bloodied and broken. She replaces the handcuffs he previously had on with handcuffs of our own, and he swallows the blood pooling in his throat until it's clear enough to croak out, "_ Wait," _as he scrambles to his knees. Her hands are gripped tight on the cuffs around his wrists, and she raises her eyebrow expectantly. He swallows again, harder, and it tastes like copper. "_ You can't take me," _he tells her, matter-of-fact,_ not _pleading._ "This is Abaroa territory," _he says through gritted teeth, as he stands up straight, chin tipped up even as the blood trickles out of his mouth. She narrows his eyes, shoving him forward until he loses balance on his shaky legs, and grunts when his knees hit the ground painfully, as her knee presses threateningly against his back, before pulling his wrists towards her where their bound behind him, and examining the underside._

"You're not an Abaroa," _she replies, snorting_. "I know what the symbol looks like. The crossed swords? Your wrists are _blank_."

"I _am_ ," _Theo insists, as his ribs are trying to knit back together._ "I get the symbol when I turn eighteen."

 _At that she_ laughs _._ "Oh, _omega_ ," _she says, tone sickly-sweet and completely mocking._ "If you were planning to lie, then you should've done your research first." _She grips the back of his head, twisting her fingers in his hair_ painfully, _and he has no choice but to follow the steel of her grip, baring his throat as she leans down to whisper right into his year, "_ Abaroas _brand their soldiers the second they become teenagers."_

 _His eyes go unfocused for just a second, as he processes the implications of_ that _, and when they refocus, it's to watch a buff man in leather drag the body of one of his captors from the barn. He catches sight of the black rune on his neck, and his blood runs cold._

 _And Theo's starting to panic now, because he recognizes the solar cross symbol, and if they_ are _who he_ thinks _they are, Theo's about to be in a whole_ world _of trouble._

 _He tries_ desperately, frantically, _to push his panic down the bond, to recapture that tendril in his mind that_ tugged _, and he thinks a_ furious, pointed _litany of,_ help, help, help--

 _For a second, it_ works, _and Theo is so relieved he could_ cry _at the familiar, prodding presence in his head. And_ then _, it_ yanks _out,_ much _harder than it did before,_ not _gentle at all, and Theo can't help but cry out as it tears itself, jerkily,_ painfully _from his mind, retreating, leaving him all alone. Theo's in so much pain he can't see straight, and for the first time in_ months _, his head is completely and totally empty._

 _Theo is all alone, half-scared to death, being shoved into the back of some kind of transport van, and gritting his teeth through an_ immense _amount of pain when it all becomes too much, suddenly, and he can't stop the spots from dancing before his eyes as he slumps and gives in to the darkness._

_\---_

_The reason so much of the morally-ambiguous supernatural avoids everything south of the United States, as Theo comes to realize, is because of the sheer level of_ organization _of the forces there. If the southern United States packs were something like organized crime, south of_ that, _going into Mexico, was an entire goddamn_ law enforcement _system, so Theo knows exactly where he's going to end up, as soon as he saw the Osorios, who govern the entire region with an iron fist, a kind of supernatural law enforcement. Theo doesn't realize_ how _much of a goddamn wild-west type of lawless the states are until Mexico City, because the Osorios_ actually _have a goddamn_ Code _that they follow, unlike the majority of the American hunters. There's a supernatural government or anything, one with eight separate branches of government and three different presidents, which takes Theo nearly his entire prison stay to understand properly._

 _The penitentiary in Mexico City isn't actually_ that _bad, at first. It's just another prison that Theo has found himself stupid enough to be stuck in. It's good for gossip, if nothing else. He's thinks he's gotten more information from one month of prison than from nine years of being a spy, and it's kind of funny, in a depressing sort of way. He hears about the Romeo-and-Juliet type drama that went down in Morocco between two of the larger packs, involving an overuse of written communication, some perfectly avoidable misunderstandings, and two dead beta werebears. He hears about Rumiko Takahashi -- practically kitsune royalty -- denouncing her wealth and family and fleeing Japan. People seem to suspect she's a lawyer in Jersey now, but Theo has his own theories. He hears about the Hale territory up in north California being taken over by a new pack, he hears the whispers of a True Alpha._ The first anyone's even _heard_ of in _years_ , _people say,_ Can you imagine the power? The power of a True Alpha? _. The McCall pack is centered in Beacon Hills, apparently, where the Nemeton has been revived, and_ God, it's been a long time since Theo's heard that name.

 _It's still not as bad as being with the Doctors, which is an important comparison to make. Theo's no longer under the protection of the Abaroas (he has the torn pack bond in his head -- which gave him migraines for_ weeks _\-- to prove it) and if he wasn't under the semi-reliable protection of Central American law enforcement, they would come for him right away. There's power in pack and there's power in order, but if Theo ever leaves here, he'd be powerless. He knows too much. They'd come for him, whether it would be to get him under their control again, or whether they've decided he's too much of a liability, and just remove his heart from his body, one final time._

 _The point is, for the first month, staying in prison isn't_ that _bad. People are kind of rough around the edges, but Theo makes some friends, because he's good at faking_ charming _by now. The food sucks ass and there's not_ that _much to do, so it's really easy to get bored. His cellmate is a werehyena who spent the better part of the decade tearing the heads off the United States east coast, but he's kind of hilarious, so Theo doesn't hold it against him. Everyone has a past. And then, someone recognizes him, and everything goes to hell, the way everything tends to do whenever Theo seems to settle in._

 _It's a Shreveport beta, and Theo fucking_ knew _that his time in Louisiana would come back to haunt him one day, but he didn't know_ this _would be how. Because it seems that now that someone has pointed it out, all kinds of people are piping up, newfound courage taking hold of their flapping gums. The spineless enforcer of one of the New Mexico packs, the second of the Bouchard pack, some disgruntled Spriggan who Theo's never even_ met _before, but who claims Theo murdered his brother. All of a sudden, people are out for_ blood _and it doesn’t look like the Osorio wardens could stop them._

 _Theo has spent a long time fearing for his life, but he's never been quite as trapped as this, not even with the Dread Doctors. At least their dislike of him was benign and detached. This is . . ._ Personal. _Theo's going to die in here, unless he finds a way out, and there's_ no way out. _Theo knows this, because he's spent his entire life escaping prisons, and this one_ still _seems locked down tight_.

_Here’s what Theo knows:_

_He's all alone in the world, fighting for himself because no one else will, and there's no one he can rely on, because in the end, the only person Theo can trust is himself._

_Theo may be a failure, he may be useless, and he may be weak. But he's smart, slippery. More frightening people than the ones inside this prison have tried to kill him, and failed. Theo may be pathetic, but he has a survival instinct that hasn't failed him yet._

_Theo is worth more dead than alive. This doesn't bother him, because it makes sense, logically speaking. Also, it's his way out._

_He plans._

_\---_

_Theo has to do the surgery himself, because the Osorios don't have the equipment readily available, and Theo knows how to sanitize his claws well enough to where they're clean enough to be used as instruments._

_The entire supernatural world has been hunting for Dread Doctor-modified DNA since the beginning of their rapid descent into infamy. The very blood that's running through Theo's veins. When he tells the Osorios he's a chimera, they don't believe him until he full shifts, and they recognize the hybrid in his animals. The full-shift isn't even that difficult, because the strain of aconite they use to weaken the shifters is_ far _too standard; it's the same strain that the Doctors used to coat their scalpels when Theo was just starting out, and Theo has been immune to it since he was nine-years-old._

_The Osorios are so desperate, the prospect of a non-supernatural boost of strength and speech too attractive to pass up. After all, Theo's just a science experiment, there's barely anything supernatural about him. He makes a trade, words clipped and tongue smooth, for his freedom._

_It barely takes any convincing at all. Theo's pretty sure they're going to use his DNA to develop, like, hunter steroids, or something. But the world hasn't given a shit about him so far, so he doesn't see why_ he _has to suddenly be concerned about the possibility of powered-up hunters running around and storming werewolf pack bases. They look skeptical when he offers them his blood, and so he makes a gamble, because they clearly need something_ more _, something more important, more_ valuable.

_The surgery takes an hour. It's quick and Theo loses some blood, but, at this point, it's just . . . Whatever. He does it in the wardens office, lounged on a futon with plastic bags put down for blood spray._

_Theo leaves Mexico City with the bare bones of a plan, a day late and a kidney short._

_\---_

_His body doesn't react that well to the spontaneous kidney loss, so he's still pretty physically weak when the Doctors show up at the hotel room. The original resident of said room is knocked out in the corner, and Theo's lounging on his back, enjoying the high thread count of the fancy hotel sheets, when he hears the distinctive clicking and ringing, and he tips his head to the side to catch sight of the Surgeon standing in the doorway. He hasn't had to see them in over a_ year _, and the familiarity sends a rather apt spike of pure_ dread _through him._

 _The Surgeon asks for a status report, and Theo's pretty sure they're deliberating whether to kill him or not right now. Theo tells him about Beacon Hills, the True Alpha, the Nemeton revival, because he's almost_ certain _by now that it was the power of the Nemeton that allowed the chimera transformation to stick with_ him _, and precisely nobody else. The Nemeton is alive again, and that means the Doctors have a chance, but that's not the reason Theo suggests it._

 _He's too volatile, he knows this. He has planned an escape scheme, not once, but_ twice _, and he knows_ far _too much for the Doctors to even_ consider _letting him stay alive. It's only a matter of time, at this point, before the Doctors decide to finally pull the plug on trial one-fifty-seven._

 _He's weak, but he can be strong. He just needs power. There's power in pack, but Theo doesn't_ want _to be a part of a pack, because he doesn't trust them. The Abaroas taught him that pack doesn't mean_ shit _, and Theo's not about to forget that. He's thankful for the lesson. Besides, no pack would want someone like_ Theo _in it anyways, as the universe has made_ abundantly _clear._

 _The solution is so, so simple. Theo needs a pack, but not an alpha. Theo needs power, whether it's given freely, or stolen._ He _needs to be the alpha._

_Theo needs to take the True Alpha's power, and maybe even his pack too. Theo needs to escape the Doctors once and for all, no matter the cost._

_Beacon Hills is Theo's exit strategy._

_He plans._

_\---_

"I guess I look a little different from the fourth-grade _."_

_Theo's in Beacon Hills, the McCall pack staring back at him, expressions varying from awe to straight-up suspicion._

_Scott breathes,_ "Theo?", _clearly shocked, and the form of address_ jars _him so much that Theo almost loses control over himself, almost lets his heart skip a beat, almost fucking_ falls _over like a fucking amateur, but he grits his teeth internally, because this is his_ only chance. _It doesn't_ matter _that the last person to call him_ that _was his dying, drowning sister, he has to fucking suck it up and get his shit together. He unclenches his jaw and smiles back, fake._

_\---_

_He drives his claws into Scott's stomach, viciously, desperately,_ angrily _, and Scott blurts, "_ You're barely even _human_ ," _blood bubbling on his lips and dripping down his chin, and Theo almost_ laughs _, thinks,_ you have _no fucking idea_.

\---

_Theo doesn't plan well enough, makes too many mistakes, miscalculates_ how _the McCall pack would react to one another, would react to_ him _. Theo realizes, far too late, that even_ with _all his research and calculations and machinations, he treated them too much like they were the_ Abaroas _. And they're_ not _, not by a long shot._

 _Kira says,_ "Your sister wants to see you," _as she_ drives _her sword into the ground in a strong, swift arc, and then Theo's being_ dragged _back, even as he_ screams, _pathetic, begging for his life, fingernails scrabbling for purchase on the smooth floor of the tunnels, no one makes a move forward, watching Theo get dragged away with solemn eyes. For a split-second, Scott's face morphs into Gervasio Abaroa's. And then, Theo's dragged into darkness and he doesn't see much of anything at all._

_\---_

_Being trapped with Tara is the fifth prison Theo has found himself in during his short eighteen years on this planet. It's easily the worst._ You brought this upon yourself, _he chastises, but it doesn't stop the pain when Tara curls her fingers into his chest. Theo hasn't felt pain in_ years _, but wherever he's trapped seems to bend the rules of reality completely._

 _Loop number two-hundred-thirty-one is just as painful as the first one. Theo_ hurts _like he hasn't in a very long time, and it never gets any better. The pain is white-hot and mind-melting each and every time. He thinks he might spend a lifetime down there, maybe two, but he's lost any concept of time._

_\---_

_Sometime before he gave up, telling Tara she didn't have to stop, he grew bored. Bored of being chased down a hallway like prey, bored of running away, just. Bored._

_Once, he ripped his own heart out, right in front of her, just to see what she would do. She was frozen, stock-still, and Theo laughed_ hard _, even as the blood dribbled from his lips, rivulets running down his chin, because he_ broke _the prison, even if only momentarily. Down in Hell, he could feel the pain, for the first time in years. Ripping his own heart out hurt worse than anything that's ever happened to Theo. It's the first time he does it, but it's certainly not the last._

_\---_

_Liam pulls Theo out of the ground. Theo tries not to make him regret it._

_He feels so, completely_ off-kilter _after he's pulled out. Exposed,_ raw _almost. Instead of the calm, empty that he's been enjoying for years, the one that lets him keep a level head and make rational decisions, all of a sudden he_ feels _fucking everything._

 _When Liam taps the sword to the ground, threatening, the wave of_ terror _that threatens to bowl Theo over is so completely_ foreign _and_ jarring _that Theo almost passes out. When Liam twists the hilt, and the pieces fall to the floor, the all-consuming relief does much the same._

_\---_

"I think you were rotting down there. I also think, whatever happened to you? You _deserved_ it."

_Even scraped raw by the Skinwalker prison, Theo's too much of an asshole to admit when someone else is right, so he says nothing at all._

_Liam says,_ "I'm going to use you as _bait_ ," _and Theo_ knows _he doesn't mean it, even as he thinks, a little bizarrely proud,_ good for you.

\---

_Liam, to Theo's surprise,_ does _, in fact, save him. Multiple times. Three to be exact, where he shoots a ghost rider with his own gun, pulls Theo out of the line of fire, kicks another one in the stomach. It makes something tangled and fuzzy rise in Theo's stomach, and he doesn't examine it too deeply when he mirrors the sentiment._

_They're staring down a whole squadron, just the two of them against four Ghost Riders, but._

_Theo knows who he is, and what he's good at. What he's good_ for. _He's spent a long time being_ bait _, for people who deserved it a_ lot _less than Liam Dunbar. Theo's a selfish creature by nature, but it's not a difficult decision. He wraps an arm around Liam's waist, and the shock of his warm stomach against Theo's forearm almost makes Theo falter in his steps. But he doesn't, hauling Liam to the elevator and dumping him on the ground unceremoniously._

"What are you _doing?_ " _Liam demands as his hands drop automatically to catch himself from the fall, and Theo can't help the_ genuine _smirk that splits his face as he meets Liam's wide, bewildered eyes through the dwindling gap between the elevator doors, and answers._

_\---_

The scalpel Monroe wields is almost a reprieve, a welcome blessing. He's too soft these days, not nearly as conditioned he was while he was still with the Doctors, but morbidly, here on an examination table, being surgically taken apart, feels like home. It's more methodical, more understandable, more of what he's used to, and it puts him in a clearer, less pathetically heartsick, frame of mind. It feels almost cleansing, like a rebirth.

_\---_

_After the Ghost Riders, the McCall pack mostly just ignores him. He thinks they might've actually forgotten that he's still here, or_ someone _would_ definitely _be banging on his truck window at night, annoyingly suspicious. He doesn't have much money, and it's kind of hard to find a job when he has absolutely no references, employer or character or otherwise._

 _He's tried pulling over on abandoned stretches of road, but the deputies always find him, and never let him sleep. He found two-hundred dollars in the glove compartment of the truck, but it's dwindling quickly. It's also, boring as_ fuck _, because there's really nothing to do except suffer silently in the California heat and lay down, staring at the ceiling of his truck and getting lost in his thoughts. And that's a place Theo would rather not go too often._

 _He tries going to the skate park, just once, the way he used to when he was pretending to be a real person sometimes in order to infiltrate packs, because it actually_ interested _him, even if he was kind of shit at it. It's mostly a waste though, because the whole place is being occupied by a roller derby team, who are, like, practicing or something. Theo watches, for a bit, because it's_ captivating, _the way they weave around each other gracefully, screaming and laughing and_ shoving _. One of the blockers is_ particularly _aggressive in her shoves and it's her fierce, burning_ anger _that reminds Theo of someone he has accidentally grown fond of. It's that thought that has Theo fleeing, just a bit, back to his truck, because,_ what the fuck.

 _It's evening in an hour, and Theo's too tired to find the energy to drive around until he finds somewhere suitably abandoned, so he just stays there, in the parking lot of the skate park, curling up in the backseat. Most everyone has gone home, so it's pretty quiet, and Theo's_ just _drifting off, when he hears the tapping on his windows, and he squints an eye open, tentative and irritated, expecting another goddamn cop, only to come face-to-face with a derby girl -- the blocker, from earlier -- her brows furrowed as she cups her hands around her eyes, seemingly to try and get a better view into his truck. Theo doesn't care for it at all._

 _He opens the door with more force than he has to, and tries to quell the annoyance in his voice, when he prompts, "_ What?"

 _Her frown stays steady._ "You're sleeping in your truck," _she says, like Theo doesn't_ know _. He can't help but roll his eyes._ There was a time in his life when he was feared _, he can't help but think, a little wistfully._

"Yes, thank you," _he replies, through gritted teeth._ "I am _aware._ Is that _all_?" _She doesn't reply for a couple seconds, keeps frowning, and Theo's fucking_ tired _, and done with everyone's shit, so he makes a move to close the door, but she stops him, placing a flexed palm on the door panel and pushing it_ back _open._

"You look like you’re barely eighteen," _she says, pursing her lips and crossing her arms across her chest, apparently completely unafraid at the potential consequences of accosting a homeless stranger at night in an abandoned skate park._ "Are you _homeless_?"

"Not that it's any of your _business_ ," _Theo spits, bristling indignantly to hide just how completely_ bemused _he is,_ "but there's not exactly anyone _willing_ to _take me in_." _She seems to absorb that information, frown melting into a sympathetic grimace before she clenches her jaw and nods once, curt, determined, and steps_ into _his truck, and Theo has to_ scramble _back on the heels of his hands, just to accommodate her, completely bewildered, heart pounding._

"So you need, what? Like, money?" _she asks, as she fishes a wallet out of the back of her jeans, and Theo squishes himself even further into the corner of the backseat, as far from her as possible, as he tries not to choke on his own spit._

"Look," _he tries, and it's actually a_ miracle _that his voice doesn't crack._ "It's Legs, right? You _can't just_ \--"

 _She cracks a smile, raising an eyebrow, and he winces, just a little._ "So you _were_ watching us," _she crows, laughing,_ "I _knew_ it." _She shakes her head, grinning._ "Yeah," _she replies,_ "Legs is a derby name, but Shreya works too." _She holds out a hand, and Theo stares at it for a good two minutes. She doesn't waver, and the hand still doesn’t disappear. Finally, he grips it, tentative._

 _He shakes her hand, meeting her eyes, and replies,_ "Theo." _It still feels weird in his mouth._

 _Over the course of the next three hours, he thankfully manages to talk her down from giving him the contents of her wallet, and lets her offer him a job instead. He doesn't think anything's actually going to come of it, so he shrugs when she brings it up, acquiescing. They spend an entire night like that, crowded into the backseat of Theo's truck, where he explains the set of circumstances that_ led _to him being homeless, in the_ vaguest terms possible _, and she repays him with stories about how she gets angry, and why she does derby in the first place. Theo's mind, pathetically, can't help but draw the parallels, the second she says_ anger issues _, but he's too tired to even berate himself for it, and by the time they're done talking, it's six in the morning, and she's making him drive to some diner, and he's too worn-down to argue with her, and also, he thinks he's going to lose the argument._

_They walk in, bell chiming cheerfully, and Theo assumes she's going to do something weird like buy him breakfast, when she goes into the back, and returns with an apron, grinning from ear-to-ear. She tosses it at him, and he catches it instinctively, but still can't help the confusion when he turns back to her._

"Suit up, Raeken," _she says, and then_ winks _._ "Surprise! You're the cute, new waiter."

_Theo, against his better instincts, smiles, hiding it in his shoulder as he pulls the apron on._

_\---_

_Liam comes around a_ lot _more after Theo gets the diner job, probably because Theo's easier to find. He's kind of annoying, but having him here is better than_ not _, so Theo doesn't say anything._

 _Legs teases him_ relentlessly _when she finds out that he hasn't been letting anyone else serve Liam, and he grimaces, wondering_ when _he became so goddamn transparent. But then, she catches sight of Savannah, their new fry cook, getting off her motorcycle, tattooed arms on full display in her muscle tee, and Legs drops_ every single one _of the pans she was holding, and Theo makes fun of her for an_ entire goddamn month _, so he thinks it's about even._

_\---_

_The hunters are rapidly becoming a problem. Liam says, over the phone,_ "I think I have a plan." _It's a_ terrible _plan, truly, involving Mason and an abandoned zoo and, like, such a_ clumsy _form of deception that even someone as thick as the_ hunters _would be able to see right through it. Liam says,_ "I need you there," _and Theo lets out a long, aggrieved sigh, but it's mostly for show because he's already pushing off his blanket and climbing clumsily into the drivers seat._

 _The plan goes just as badly as Theo assumed it would, except Liam actually loses his_ shit _, which isn't something he planned for. Luckily, Liam kind of listens to him when Theo tells him to calm down, which_ also _isn't something he planned for, and it throws him, just a bit. He doesn't think too hard about it, just like he doesn't think too hard about why his arms are so careful as they carry Liam out of the zoo, buckle him into the passenger seat, and wipe the blood, slow and thorough and_ gentle _, from each bruised knuckle, before he gets into the drivers side, and drops his head down onto the steering wheel with a pitiful, defeated_ thunk.

 _It takes him a good five minutes to be able to regain his wits enough to drive them out, pointedly not sneaking glances at Liam's sleeping frame as he zones out a bit, losing himself in the consistency of the dark, open road. Liam wakes up, eventually, and bristles, just a little bit; a mild type of annoyance that amuses Theo to no end. He asks how many times Theo had to knock him out, and Theo can't help but look over at him, Liam scrubbing a hand across his face, groggy and disgruntled and frowning, and Theo_ also _can't help the smile that breaks over his face without his permission, as he answers._

_\---_

_Theo's driving to the hospital, accelerating down the dark empty, road, Scott's voice through the phone, tinny but authoritative, still echoing in his head, "_ Just buy us more time. Wherever Liam and the others are, get them out of there _." Something in his head, the small, self-preserving voice that's kept him alive this long, says,_ this is the stupidest thing you've ever done _. It's too late though, he's already fallen. He's helpless to do anything, really, except ignore it, pressing down harder on the accelerator and following the siren call of his heart all the way to the hospital._

_\---_

_They're in an elevator, on the brink of something important. The air is heavy and crackling, and not just with bullets. He stares straight into assessing blue eyes, bright in the florescent hospital lights. They're standing so close that Theo can_ taste _the adrenaline coming off Liam in waves. His eyes flick down to Liam's lips, helpless, and in this moment, he can't imagine he's ever wanted anything as much as he wants to taste the sweet warmth of Liam's mouth, run his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, crowd him up against the elevator walls and drink in his surprised gasp, gripping hard, desperate, as the room spins and spins and spins. Theo doesn't, because he's a coward. Instead, he says, "_ I'm not dying for you, _" and Liam replies, "_ I'm not dying for you either _," and he's so beautiful -- eyes blazing, stubborn jaw set in a tense, perfect line -- that it makes Theo's chest hurt, just below the sternum. He can't look away, even when Liam_ does _._

_Without even listening to their heartbeats, Theo knows this: only one of them is telling the truth, and it's obvious who, because Theo Raeken has always been a liar._

_\---_

_Theo helps the pack, accidentally, and then things start spiraling out of hand. It starts with Scott calling him, apologetic, in the middle of the night, asking him to help with some horribly thought-out Monroe plan, and it lasts all night, and then Malia's going on her morning run, loping fully-shifted through the woods, and asking him to come with, and he hides his bewilderment pretty well when she_ doesn't _actually tear his throat out and leave his mangled corpse in the preserve for the local wildlife to feast on. She just turns back after an hour or two, before she runs back to Scott's, and Theo follows her dutifully. He shifts back just as Liam's waking up from his power nap in the living room, and he freezes, caught out, but the whole thing is worth it just for the way Liam finally focuses his eyes, catches sight of Theo's nudity,_ wheezes _, and scrambles to rip his own jacket off, throwing it at Theo's junk, frantic and frenzied in a way that makes Theo laugh._

 _The next time, Liam calls him, asking for his presence at another pack meeting, and it's not like Theo can say_ no _, not to_ him _, so he goes, and says something, apparently insightful, but frankly_ , obvious _, about the properties of blue aconite, and Lydia eyes him curiously, all but dragging him down to her basement, and this time, he's absolutely_ certain _that he's about to be, like, hacked apart by a chainsaw or something, stored in neat pieces in a freezer underground, but then Lydia flicks on the lights, revealing it to be a_ laboratory _of all things, hands him a pair of goggles, and Theo doesn't hide his bewilderment_ that _well this time_. _Maybe the whole underground-laboratory thing should remind him of the Doctors, but they were methodical, clinical, and Lydia's lab is so_ clearly _a passion-project, held together with a prayer, duct tape, some love, and her genius-level IQ, ramshackle and thrown together. The similarities start and end with "underground" and "laboratory"._

 _The meeting after_ that _, he's kneeling over a coffee table, trying to draw a diagram coherent enough that it'll bleed the overwhelmed confusion from Scott's tensed brow._ "It's called _hedgehog defense_ ," _Theo explains, trying to be patient,_ "it's a type of, like, _bottleneck_ ," _and Scott only looks_ marginally _less intimidated, and Stiles keep shooting him these suspicious little_ looks _and the whole thing just makes Theo very, very tired. But then, a week later, Stiles is in D.C. again and they're all still trying to figure out the problem. Theo's pretty sure Scott hasn't slept in two days straight -- because_ Theo _hasn't slept in two days straight, barely staying awake from where he's leaning back against the right half of Liam's chest, one of Liam's arms slung lazily around Theo's waist, his head buried in the crook of Theo's neck, soft snores vibrating into his skin with every exhale, comfortable and warm, scent absolutely content in a way that's, like_ drugging _Theo, or something, making his eyelids slip shut_ \-- _and Stiles is flailing on the other end of a FaceTime call, gesturing in the air as he monologues,_ "Okay, so we use _the hammer and anvil_ , right? And we--"

"You want us," _Scott starts, already frowning._ "To use _hammers?_ "

" _What?" Stiles snaps,_ "No, _hammer and anvil_ , like, an encirclement--" _He cuts himself off as Scott's eyes go unfocused_ , before _pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and sighing, loud and exasperated._ "Never mind, Scotty, go get some sleep, for the love of _god_. And _please_ give the phone to Theo."

 _And_ that _has Theo straightening up, as Scott hands him the phone, and Liam protests, grumbling disgruntledly in his sleep and_ tightening _his arm around Theo, tugging him in until Theo is half in his lap, perched precariously on Liam's right thigh as Liam nuzzles_ harder _into his neck, before finally settling, and falling back asleep. Stiles raises an eyebrow, opens his mouth, and then shuts it. Opens his mouth_ again, _and then shuts this. He does this four more times, until he finally shakes himself, and apparently_ (thankfully) _decides to ignore it altogether._

"Okay, so the _hammer and anvil_ ," _he posits,_ "except we replace the _anvil_ , with a second _hammer_." _Stiles does jazz hands. Theo blinks._

"That's a _horrible_ idea," _Theo replies, scrubbing a hand across his eyes, bemused and_ exhausted. _Liam snuffles, wrapping his_ other _arm around Theo too, and Theo can't help but slump back into his warmth_. " _Both_ forces doing encirclement maneuvers? That would _never work_."

"Wouldn't it?" _Stiles asks, a kind of manic gleam in his eye as he turns back to the wall behind him, pulls out a marker, and starts sketching it out._

 _As it turns out, Stiles is just a fucking weirdo, and his_ impressed _face, is the same as his_ suspicious _face, and the whole thing sends such a_ jolt _of confusion through him, that he avoids the McCall pack for two whole weeks, dodging their calls. Lydia has already left for MIT and Scott has finally started class at UC Davis at Melissa's urging (even though he dutifully returns every single weekend). He dodges Liam whenever he shows up at the diner with Mason and Corey, and he thinks his strategy is working until Legs bullies him into going on his break early, and he sees Liam waiting for him on the hood of his truck._

"You're avoiding us," _is the first thing Liam says when Theo approaches the truck, brash and direct as always, in a way that Theo has come to appreciate._

"I--" _Theo tries, fully set on denying it, but then he catches Liam's eyes, deflates a bit, replies,_ "yeah." _A defeated kind of admission, because he doesn't much like lying to Liam these days. The flex of Liam's jaw doesn't relax._

"Why?" _he asks, frowning, eyes downcast_. "Did I--?" _Liam shifts, uncomfortable, not meeting Theo's gaze,_ "Did _I_ do some--?"

" _No_ ," _Theo cuts in, firm, because he can't let Liam finish that sentence. He_ really _doesn't like the look on Liam's face, the way he smells right now, self-recriminating._ "No, _hey_ ," _Theo gets closer, until he's standing in the V of Liam's legs,_ "you didn't--" _he tries, before he has to cut himself off and clear his throat._ "It's _my_ fault," _he admits, chucking Liam gently under the chin. Liam finally meets his eyes, searching his face._ "I--" _Theo starts, before realizing he doesn't_ exactly _know how to explain his thought process to Liam, how to say,_ everyone's being really friendly and it's freaking me the fuck out, _without sounding completely deranged, so he doesn't._ "It's _my_ fault," _he settles on repeating, leaning in until his forehead is pressing against Liam's shoulder, and then, just. Resting his body there, because he's_ comfortable _, sue him._ "Sorry," _he can't help but add quietly, and Liam's scent starts to clear a bit._

"It's okay," _Liam murmurs back, just as quiet, slinging an arm around Theo's neck and holding him there. His efforts are completely wasted, because it's not like Theo is planning on moving anytime soon. He's pretty sure he could fall asleep here, just like this._ "Just _say_ something next time, instead of ignoring us," _Liam chastises, gentle, as he brushes his thumb softly across the edge of Theo's hairline. Theo slumps a little harder into Liam, and Liam winds his_ other _arm around him, placing a warm, broad palm at the small of Theo's back to, like, steady him or something._ "There's another meeting this week," _Liam says_. "You're coming."

 _It's not a question, but Theo answers it anyways._ "Yeah," _Theo replies, muffled by the soft fabric of Liam's shirt. He stands there for a while, just breathing the scent of him in, calm and contented in a way that makes Theo warm._ "Yeah, I'll be there."

\---

_They don't talk about the whole_ homeless _thing, which Theo is_ abundantly _grateful for._

 _He tells Legs that he moved in with Scott, a month after the whole hunter thing, because he knows she worries about him, and he doesn't know how to explain,_ I did some really bad, unforgiveable things, and this is how I have to pay for them, _and he's pretty sure that she thinks he and Scott are, like, related or something, and they reconciled after the hunters since Scott comes to the diner a couple times, and Theo just doesn't correct her._

_No one brings it up, except for Argent that one time, which was kind of uncomfortable, but Theo explained everything, and Argent didn't bring it up again._

_The diner paycheck just_ barely _covers the cost of laundry, gas money, and new clothes (since his get fucking_ torn _so often in fights). He takes most of his meals at the diner, and some at Scott's house, and for the rest of them, he just toughs it out. Even_ before _the Doctors, Theo was no stranger to being hungry._

 _The McCall pack doesn't talk about the_ very _evident scent of him living in his truck as he drives them places, and Theo doesn't talk about_ officially accepting his penance _or anything weird like that, and things are good._

 _For the most part, it's the happiest Theo has been in a_ while _._

\---

_It doesn't take him that long to realize that he's probably, like,_ embarassingly _, in love with Liam, because Theo has spent too long lying to other people, so he at least tries to be honest with_ himself. _Except it's really not_ that _embarrassing because really, Liam's amazing. If he_ had _to have a_ mortifyingly _unrequited crush on_ someone _, he's at least glad it's someone like_ Liam _. Also, like, Liam deserves to be loved, or something pathetic and sappy like that._

 _He looks at Liam sometimes, who wears his heart on his sleeve, and he thinks,_ I could make myself seem like someone he could love _, and it's tempting, it's_ so _tempting because Theo has spent half his_ life _lying and pretending, but Theo's strong enough to not give in, because, one: Theo spends most of his time these days just trying to figure out who_ Theo _is and what he wants, and two: he thinks it would_ destroy _him completely for both of them to go into it, wishing Theo was someone else._

_And besides, Liam likes girls and Theo has spent his entire life being an experiment; he wants something more for himself these days, even though he knows he doesn't deserve it._

_He knows they're not on the same page, they don't want the same thing. No one in Theo's entire life has wanted him there, and he's not stupid enough to think the first would be someone like this, someone who would set him on_ fire _. Theo's just not the kind of person that people want, never was. He privately thinks that it's a good thing, because he doesn't even know_ how _to be the kind of person that someone else could want. His acting skills have taken a nosedive since he was pulled out of the ground, to be completely honest, so he probably_ couldn't _actually make himself seem like someone Liam could--_

_\---_

Monroe stops, and _leaves_ at some point, and then Theo's just there, chilling on the examination table with his chest still torn open. That's when he first sees Liam and he thinks, with a detached kind of interest, _oh_. Thinks, _oh, I'm dying_.

Liam says some things, and Theo says some things in return, but he forgets the conversation almost _immediately_ after they have it, head woozy, and it's so, horribly _pathetic_ that his dying brain had to _conjure_ up a hallucination of a Liam who _loved him back_ , that Theo's eyes burn. He doesn't remember what they talked about, but he _does_ remember Liam _smiling_ , because he always remembers Liam's smiles, automatically tracks the curve of them, the way his lips twist, the cheek dimples and eyes sparkle. This smile isn't like those, at _all_ , but he still _likes_ it, because it's _Liam_. And also, he's delirious.

Seeing Liam, especially _this_ Liam, who, like, loves him, or something, is easily more painful than the surgery. Something deep inside him _twists_ , as he thinks, _this is the best you're going to get_. _This is the closest you'll ever come to him loving you too._

But Theo Raeken was born with a broken heart, so he thinks it’s only fitting that he dies with one too.

\---

Theo wakes up, a couple hours after he sees Liam. At least, he thinks so, because the sun is rising in the sky, but he's mostly focused on the fact that he's _not dead_.

His head is a lot more clear than before, and it lets him think.

No one has made a move to leave Beacon Hills.

 _I would've come for him_ , Theo thinks, unreasonably hurt. _I would've come for any of them_. But Theo's always been a nuisance, a loose end. He came into this world as an accident that did nothing but suck the money out of his parent's wallets with the hole in his heart and the asthma in his lungs and take up the space in their house that was meant for Tara, and when the Dread Doctors came, saying, _you're defective but we can fix you,_ saying, _we can make you powerful_ , saying _we can make you important_ , he'd thought, _oh_. He'd thought _oh, this is my chance_ , and it _was_ , until he was a nuisance to them too. He was nothing but a _pawn_ to the Abaroas, even when they called him _family_. They got rid of him as soon as they could, bond ripping painfully in his head.

And these days, he's the loose end of a villain already vanquished, a nuisance to the McCall pack who keep him around because he's useful enough, or maybe he's overestimating his helpfulness and he has worn out his welcome already. He's kind of _glad_ he was captured, because Theo has spent so _long_ trying to figure out what his _role_ was in Beacon Hills, to the town, to the pack, and now he _finally_ understands; it's the _exact_ same as his role in the Abaroa pack. The whole, _protect a pack that you're not a part of, because you're expendable, and no one else is._ Sure, the pack is _friendly_ , but the _Abaroas_ were plenty friendly too. Cisco taught Theo how to play beer pong and Carlotta taught him how to drive a car. Everyone is friendly until you're more trouble then your worth, and then they leave you for dead, because that's just how the world works. It's nothing personal.

The point is, Theo has never been wanted by a single person in his whole entire life, so he's not surprised, that no one has left Beacon Hills, even though something young and naïve and pathetic inside him is, shamefully, a little disappointed. He thinks, maybe, sometimes, that _Liam_ might want him around, just a little bit, but Liam's just _kind_ , kind like Theo doesn't know how to be, and it would be a perversion of the good in Liam's heart to take that kindness as something more, and Theo can't bring himself to taint the one pure thing in his life, the way he has done with everything else. Theo _knows_ he's Liam's anchor, for now, just like he _knows_ Liam's _his_ , but the thing is, Liam has had another anchor before, and he'll have another anchor _again_ (and that's not even addressing the tried and proven _fact_ that Theo makes a _terrible_ anchor), but Theo? _Theo_ has barely even had a _friend_.

Theo has been alone his whole entire life, no one looking out for him but himself. It's a familiar instinct, tried and true and it's slipped on easily, like an old skin. It's kept him alive for this long, after all.

Theo is all alone in the world. Nobody will notice if he dies, and nobody will care if he lives, because that's just how the universe works.

The hunters don't think he's _Liam_ anymore, which is good. It means he can leave. The McCall pack isn't coming for him, because, why would they? But, that's fine too, because Theo doesn't _need_ them. He's survived on his own for _this_ long, and granted, he didn't turn out _fantastic_ , but his heart is still in his chest, and (most of) his organs are still in his body, so he thinks he did a pretty good job. Theo's not worried. He's been in tighter spots before, and it'll take more than _Tamora Monroe_ and her pathetic little amateur hunting squad to kill him.

Theo has been a puppet his whole _life_ , and as he cuts the one last string, feeling something _snap_ in his head as his heart breaks, it feels like loneliness so _thick_ that it makes his bones ache, but it also tastes like freedom.

He plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> even _I_ did not forsee this chapter being a thing. I knew I would delve into a bit of Theo backstory, but I had NO clue this was where it was going until I actually wrote it. Apparently, my writing is a mystery to everyone, including myself. This chapter was originally supposed to have some action in it, but I guess that's just going to be in the next one. But hey! Now we know what happened to Theo, kind of! At least we know why the pack bond broke (which someone predicted in the chapter 4 comments, and i SCREAMED).
> 
> Please tell me what you liked, and what you didn't!! All feedback is welcome, and every single comment is VERY appreciated!! Feel free to find me on tumblr at [inabottlelikelightning](https://www.inabottlelikelightning.tumblr.com/) to come scream :D


	7. and you're off, you're on the run, a fugitive driving away from something shameful and half-remembered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited chapter 7!! Sorry about the week with no update; real life hit hard and I didn't have time to write at ALL, but I finally finished it!! Writing this chapter was like pulling TEETH I swear to god, but it ended up not that long in the end. And by not that long, I mean 10k, so, make of that what you will, haha. To be completely honest, this week is gonna be even WORSE, so ch 8 probably won't be able to go up for 2 weeks instead of one. Thank y'all SO much for sticking with me through this journey, it warms my heart like CRAZY to hear from y'all every week. <3333 This one is BARELY proofread, so feel free to point out any typos :)) thanks!!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!! :DD

They leave him alone for a good couple hours, because if there’s one advantage to being the _only_ trial, it’s that they have to wait for him to heal, before they decide to fuck with his body some more.

It’s a lesson the Doctors taught him, and one that he’s grateful for.

He loses consciousness for a little while, while his body dutifully tries to knit itself together. It doesn’t work, obviously, but he appreciates it’s efforts nonetheless. When Theo wakes up, the light has changed. _Noon_ , Theo thinks absently, automatically calculating the angles and lengths of the shadows.

His body has clearly done all it could, he realizes, as he looks down into the mangled mess of his torso. All it could with the pieces of his skin still being held open, grotesquely exposed. He’s not bleeding black and silver anymore, which means Monroe must've cleansed some of the excess wolfsbane from his body, and the worst of the organ damage seems to be healing well, tissue fusing itself together.

Theo’s not worried. Partially because he’s had worse, but mostly because he has a _plan_. Someone has to come in sooner or later to feed him, because he’s useless to them if he’s dead. All he has to do is wait. And Theo’s _good_ at waiting.

_The third right, the second left, straight past, and Theo would be out._

He lets his eyes slide shut and casts his senses around, dulled as they may be by the wolfsbane, picking apart the warehouse around him. The place where they’re holding him isn’t a room at all, just a junction of two corridors, a well-lit corner, with two seemingly endless hallways stretching in either direction. Sounds echo through them, indistinct. He can’t smell much besides the pungent, stinging stench of isopropyl alcohol, which fills the vat that Monroe placed the used surgical instruments in. Apparently, to be reused later. The thought almost makes Theo shudder, if Theo were the kind of person to do things like that.

It takes barely forty minutes for someone to show up, and he hears them coming from the moment they enter the hallway, the crisp click of heels echoing cleanly across the smooth, industrial walls. It makes Theo tense up. Poised. Ready.

It’s a young blonde woman, wearing, frankly, an _excessive_ amount of leather, who finally enters Theo’s line of sight, bowl in hand. It’s a doggy bowl, and Theo has to _fight_ to suppress an eye roll because apparently, Monroe’s sadistic cult was _not_ above dog jokes. Theo would _laugh_ if he wasn’t so annoyed, as she waves the bowl of grey sludge underneath his nose, murmurs, “Eat up, like a good little puppy,” but he stays _still_ like he’s spent _years_ doing; years of being taken and strapped down and torn apart in every way imaginable. There’s _literally_ no one on this _planet_ better equipped to handle this situation than he is. Maybe that should be alarming, or something, but instead, it just brings him a sense of comfort. Pack meetings scare the _shit_ out of him because of the sheer _unfamiliarity_ but _this? This,_ Theo knows how to do. _This_ , Theo _grew up_ doing. _This,_ is what Theo’s _really_ good for.

_The third right, the second left, straight past._

He stays still enough for her to get closer, taunting, something vaguely crazy and predatory in her eyes that makes him wonder if _he’s_ the one with a wild animal inside of him. He stays still all the way up until she whispers, low, _“Open up wide,”_ and brushes a cold thumb across his lower lip experimentally, and Theo quells the swell of _revulsion_ rising up in his ribs, in order to suddenly pitch his body forward, their heads meeting in a satisfyingly violent _crack_ before she falls to the floor in an unceremonious heap of limbs. The leather is too tight for her to _really_ sink to the ground, and results in her awkwardly being kind of half propped-up by the stiff fabric stretched taut against her limp arms and sprawled legs. It amuses something petty inside Theo, but he doesn’t have much time to ruminate on it, because the nature of his location is that they’re _wide open_ , completely exposed, anyone could come into the junction from either hallway, and then who _knows_ what they would do to Theo _then_.

They strapped Theo’s legs down with a heavy metal bar, but they didn’t cuff his ankles or anything like that because they’re, apparently, fucking _stupid._ Also, they’ve _really_ underestimated how flexible he is, because it only takes some _slightly_ uncomfortable maneuvering, stretching, and slumping downward before the bottom half of his right leg is no longer constrained the bar, granting Theo enough mobility to toe off his shoe and sock, nudge open the jacket of the body on the floor, and rummage around, groping awkwardly with his toes, until he hears the unmistakable clinking of _keys._

Letting out a sigh of relief, he wraps his toes firmly around the cool metal of the key ring and _yanks_ until his foot and the keys clenched tightly in its grasp are free of her jacket, and he flicks his ankle up _hard_ , releasing the keys in a perfect, upward arc toward the ceiling, and on their way back down, he’s able to catch them neatly between his teeth.

He dislocates his right thumb with fairly little difficulty, but he runs into trouble when he realizes just how fucking _tight_ the handcuff is on his wrist, resulting in Theo having to maneuver his way out of the cuff clumsily, strategically picking which extra bones in his hand he’s going to need to break to get out. It takes less than a minute, obviously, because everything goes pretty easily when you don’t care how many of the bones in your hand are broken.

(The bite of the handcuffs is kind of annoying, because they leave conspicuous dark blisters around his wrists, and he's pretty sure that they were coated in wolfsbane, apparently, just for shits and giggles. It's not unbearable, though, and besides, Theo's had a lot of practice getting in and out of handcuffs from those nights when the nightmares get extra bad, and he can't drift off without waking up to vicious gouge marks in his chest and bloodied hands, leaving him with no choice but to cuff himself to the truck door, or risk an impromptu organ removal in a state of semi-consciousness. It's annoying because it makes the whole truck smell like blood, and it costs him extra money for when he has to dump his bloodstained shirts at the laundromat. It has been steadily but surely getting worse, and Theo has just been _waiting_ for the day when he _doesn't_ wake up in time, and they find his body in the woods, his sister's unbeating heart clutched viciously in his lifeless hand.)

Once his right hand is free, he uses his mangled fingers to clumsily pull the key ring from his mouth and unlock the shackle binding his left wrist, followed by the bar across his legs. He stumbles forward once he’s free, legs stinging painfully with the prickle of pins and needles, and it takes him a second to regain his balance, but once he does, he has to wrap shielding arms around his exposed torso, so that nothing actually _falls out_ , and he casts a glance around the medical cart _desperately_ for some stitches or something, because if he has to keep his arms constantly pressed to his body, he's not going to make it very far.

 _Luckily_ , the med cart isn't _actually_ a med cart, it's just a repurposed office utility cart, and the bottom shelf is still crammed with stationary that Monroe apparently, didn't see the point of dumping. Theo can’t _actually_ bend forward without something important escaping from his body, so he has to use his feet again, curling his toes around a stapler somewhere in the back, and tossing it up, before catching it in his good hand, the other one still trying to knit itself together. Theo eyes the stapler warily, thinks faintly, _here goes nothing_ , before holding the flaps of his torso together, and pressing a line of staples down the front of his body. It's not as neat as he would _like_ , because he has to use his _good_ hand to hold his torso together, and so it's his _broken_ one that's pushing the stapler down. The result is something vaguely Frankenstein-esque that Theo doesn't care to examine too deeply. It does the job well enough, but Theo runs a roll of duct tape around his chest and stomach a couple times just to be sure.

Four minutes of patching himself up and Theo's almost as good as new. He doesn't know how many people are currently occupying the facility, using _this_ warehouse as a home base, how many people he's going to have to fight on his way out, but he takes comfort in the fact that he's only seen about three different faces since he's been brought here. It can’t be _that_ heavily populated.

He pulls his shoe back on and sneaks down the hallway, one hand skating along the wall, keeping his footsteps quiet and hearing sharpened, heartbeat steady but breathing labored, the brisk walk leaving him more winded than it really should. Theo exits the hallway, after what seems like _forever,_ meandering in the darkness.

_The third right, the second left, straight past._

He takes the third right.

It's just another long hallway, but this time it's actually _populated_ , two hunters talking while they stand sentinel, doing god knows _what_ , but they have weapons, Theo can spot the glint of gunmetal on their utility belts. They look more _military_ than anything else, which means they'll actually put up a _fight_ , which is kind of an inconvenience, but beggars, choosers, etcetera, etcetera.

Theo doesn't bother trying to hide or sneak up on them, because this hallway is well-lit, harsh florescent lights bathing the whole grey corridor in stark, artificial light, and they see him as soon as he rounds the corner, pulling out their firearms automatically with startled _yelps_ , and Theo walks right up to the smaller of the two, places his hand over the barrel of the gun, unflinching when the bullet passes right through his hand, because, like, _whatever, it was broken anyways_ , and the man's temporary shock gives Theo the upper hand he needs to grab the gun with his good hand, and pistol-whip him with it, his neck snapping painfully to the side in response. He's still breathing, which is a relief, but the bigger man has his gun trained on Theo, gaze sharp, even as Theo points his newly-acquired one right back.

The trained, practical part of Theo makes him tilt his head, take in the tense line of the man's jaw, the way his body is pitched slightly forward, the way his eyes flicker down to the body on the ground, lightning-quick, the light-hearted chuckles from before, and Theo thinks, _Oh_ , raises his eyebrows, challenging, and turns the barrel of his gun from the man still standing to the one knocked out on the floor, and hears the man's heartbeat quicken, almost _immediately._ The smell of panic is _delicious_ , heavy and _bitter_.

Theo grins, dark. " _Drop it_ ," he says. The man does. The _clink_ of metal on concrete has never sounded so satisfying.

Theo takes the shirt and jacket off the man collapsed on the floor, and then, because his own are torn to hell, his pants too, for good measure. He does it all with his broken hand, blood leaking sluggishly out of the hole in his hand. The bullet was an ordinary one, no wolfsbane, which is a small mercy, but the injury is still annoying, staining the clean clothes that Theo is trying to procure. His fucked up fingers make it a little difficult because he can barely move them, but he has to keep his good hand on the gun trained on the body the entire time, just in case.

He makes the second left, with an actual shirt and loose pants with a gun tucked into the back. He tore off a strip of his old jeans, using the pant leg to staunch the bleeding of his hand. It's not the _best_ , but it's probably better than the fucking _staples_ in his stomach.

_The third right, the second left, straight past._

Theo is _so_ close. All he has to do is go _straight past_ , and he's done. Gone. _Free._

He makes it halfway through, before he passes the room.

It's different from the rest of the rooms, because it's so obviously _new_. And also because it's _chock full_ of wolfsbane, rows and rows of wooden tables and blue flowers so _offensively_ bright they look almost _artificial_.

They _are_ artificial, Theo realizes, remembering the words, distorted as they might've been by the panic, _genetically modified wolfsbane_. He steps into the room, hesitantly. He thinks, reprimanding, _you fucking idiot, you're almost out_. He takes _another_ step. He thinks, _you were so close_. The rows of flowers are lit by low-hanging incandescent lights. Theo remembers the _taste_ of blood and aconite as it painted his insides, as he's hit by a _crashing_ wave of déjà-vu as he recalls the taste of _mountain ash_ , burning bitter on the back of his tongue. He thinks, half-hysterical, _what if_ , and before he can stop himself, break out of his trance, he's reaching out a tentative hand, brushing a petal gently. It kisses the flesh of his thumb.

Nothing. No stinging, no blistering.

Theo thinks, _huh_ , as he grasps it more firmly, rubbing the anther along his palm, and getting nothing but messy pollen all over his hands. His flesh remains fairly unharmed. _Immunity_ , Theo thinks faintly. He remembers _, new strain_ , realizes _, this is all they have. This is all the genetically modified wolfsbane they have._ He eyes the rows of flowers, and even as he's thinking, _it can't hurt you_ , thinking, _you don't owe anyone anything_ , thinking, _this is your chance to escape_ , thinking, _all you have is yourself_ , he's walking toward the middle of the room, brisk and with _purpose_ , because:

Some firm, unflinching voice inside him says, _you have to destroy it_. It reminds him, thoroughly, of someone who makes his heart _clench_ tight. Theo would like to say it's unpleasant, but he tries not to lie to himself these days.

It says, _you have to destroy it_. It says, _you have to_ burn it _to the_ ground _._

Theo fucks with the wiring on one of the incandescent lamps. It wouldn't be difficult, except for Theo doesn't have much in the way of tools. His hand isn't healing fast enough, and so he only has one good one, uses it to untangle bundles and pushes his fangs out of his gums, using them to strip wires occasionally, before he brushes two of the exposed live wires together, generating a spark big enough to make the table closest to him catch on fire, the flame, when it catches the flower, burns _blue_ , and so does the smoke. It spreads, quick and efficient, and before Theo can even track it, the fire has jumped to the rest of the row, the entire back half thoroughly aflame, beginning to encroach on the front. Abruptly, the fire alarm goes off, shrill ringing piercing _right through_ Theo's head, eliciting a sharp, throbbing migraine, and _that's_ what spurs Theo into motion. He _bolts_ from the room, thinking, _straight past, straight past, straight past_ as he _sprints_ through the final corridor, the front of his shirt pulled up and held over his nose and mouth as he tries not to inhale too much smoke, because he's pretty sure his body is, like, a hair's-breadth away from failing completely.

The warehouse is too old to have a functional sprinkler system, thankfully, (Theo knows because he _checked_ ) but the alarm is enough to jolt everyone else into motion, and Theo sees hunters run past him, all making a break for the exit, trying to escape the thick blue smoke creeping down the hallway. They don’t even _notice_ him, and maybe it's because of his inconspicuous hunter clothes (bloodstained as they may _be_ ) or just their _panic_ , but Theo takes it as the blessing it _is,_ makes his way out of the warehouse without a single glance back, almost _ripping_ the door off of one of the SUVs in the parking lot, one that no one has gotten to yet, to throw himself into it, and then taking a couple seconds to catch his breath.

He breathes in, out. His mouth still tastes like ash but his hands remain steady. If there's one thing Theo can be proud of, it's that his hands _always_ remain steady.

He cracks the panel below the steering column open with a quick strike, and grabs the bundle of wires going into the steering column, pulling the entire ignition cylinder in his lap. The first three wires are cut fairly easily with his claws, and he strips them efficiently with his fangs, before using the jeans-bandage as a makeshift insulation glove as he twists the ignition and battery wires together quickly and clumsily, winding them around, and letting out a sigh of relief when the dashboard lights up. Hunters are still pouring out of the building, but the vehicle he chose is towards the back of the parking lot. Theo doesn't have much time, but he has _enough_.

He holds the last wire against the two intertwined until he hears the engine turn, and then he's off like a _shot_ , tearing out of the parking lot and onto the road at a breakneck speed. There aren't any other vehicles, and though the road is fairly small, Theo's pushing one-hundred when the highway finally comes into view.

He grips the steering wheel harder, grounding, against his battered palms. He can't smell fresh blood anymore from his hand, which is always a good sign, but his clothes are now covered in _ash_ too. It's a minor inconvenience. Nothing else really seems to be able to dampen the _rush_ of relief that floods through him.

Theo has a healing bullet hole in his hand and a messy line of staples down his chest. He's wearing clothes that aren't _his_ , but the blood and _ash_ covering them _are_. It all barely registers.

Theo is _free_.

\---

He drifts, a little, as he drives. He's forgotten how weird it is to drive in _silence_ , no incessant chattering in the back to distract him, no distractions taking up the passenger seat, demanding his attention with their stupid pretty eyes and clever hands and strong shoulders.

He remembers a dark night, desperate hands gripped tight on the wheel of a stolen car, his heart pounding in his chest, still keyed up from _this isn't even a car key_ , the scent of Liam's sweat thick on his tongue, the burn of adrenaline sweet in his veins. Remembers his strong voice, firm tone, _then the rest of us? We get forgotten_.

Theo thinks, _I already have_.

Theo thinks, _you're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you he lov--_

Theo thinks, _you're in a car with a beautiful boy, and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling_ , but even though Theo hasn't had to deal with _feelings_ in a _long time,_ Theo's hands have never been anything but steady.

Theo thinks, _you're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he_ doesn't _lov--_

Theo thinks, _you're in a car all alone_. _He_ doesn't _love you and he_ never will _, because you've always been alone, and you'll always_ be _alone._

Theo thinks, _maybe, some people just weren't built to be loved._

The ringing of silence in his ears gets a little louder, a little sharper. Theo blinks the dark spots out of his eyes and presses down harder on the accelerator. His hands shake where they're gripped, white-knuckled, on the beaten steering wheel.

He drives.

\---

The jacket he stole, thankfully, has a wallet in it. He drives just far enough for the motel he picks to _not_ be the obvious choice for any hunters running from the fire, and pays for a single night, before unfolding the wallet again.

"For a set of clean clothes and as _much_ food as you can get," he says, eyebrow raised, as he places a hundred-dollar bill down on the desk, " _and_ ," he adds, "no questions _asked,_ no questions _answered_ ," placing _another_ hundred down _. Don't tell anyone I'm here_ , he doesn't say _, don't ask about the blood_. The woman at the counter pops her gum, unimpressed, before swiping the money off the counter, with an unbothered, _you got it, sugar_. She smirks, says, _throw in another hundy and I might blow you, too_. Theo can't tell if she's kidding or not, but he's too tired to give a fuck, so he just rolls his eyes, snatching the key off the counter, before heading for his room.

The room smells _terrible_ , like weariness and semen, but Theo has been strapped down for _too many fucking days_ to give a single shit. Even the horribly lumpy mattress looks inviting, and it takes everything he has in him not to just collapse down into it, because if he sleeps now, without eating or cleaning his cuts, he doesn't know _when_ he'll wake up, doesn't know _if_ he'll wake up, or if he'll be chewed up and spit out by some nasty infection.

In _theory_ , a full-shift would fix that problem, accelerating his healing a bit, but the _last_ time he tried to full-shift when he still had stitches holding him together it resulted in the loss of two of his less-important toes, that had to then be reattached right there in the seedy alley. Also, he stepped on a used heroin needle. It was an unpleasant experience to say the least, and a pretty shitty way to spend his fifteenth birthday.

Theo strips efficiently, unceremoniously dumping his bloodied clothes on the floor and unwrapping his hand. There's still a nasty looking scar on his palm, and when he checks the bathroom mirror, he catches the blood sluggishly seeping from where he stapled himself together. He winces. It's so _messy_ , it's almost _embarrassing_.

It takes him a couple minutes to catalogue the contents of the room. The whole thing is kind of musty, a little moldy, but it's warm enough, which is really all that matters. Theo doesn't have any disinfectant, didn't ask the lady at the front to go buy some, but he _does_ find some whiskey in the bathroom cabinet, from _god_ knows where. It's not like it can _worsen_ the situation, and it works as a good enough disinfectant in a pinch, so Theo pours a generous amount down his spliced chest and across his injured palm, before downing the rest of it in three ambitious gulps. The screaming in his head quiets, just a little.

He looks at himself in the mirror, staples and scars and bruises and all. Thinks, _this is what you're good for._ Thinks, _this is who you_ are. He smiles in the mirror, practicing, the way he used to spend hours doing, and it looks hollow and empty. His teeth still have blood on them.

"You played yourself, one-fifty-seven," he murmurs. _Insanity_ is to do the same thing over and over again and expect different results. Theo used to think he was too _good_ to be called insane, too high functioning, but at this point, does any other word really fit? All he _does_ is the _same thing_ , over and over and _over_ again, like it'll end differently. Like it won’t end with Theo, hands covered in blood, half-dead, and completely alone.

" _Theo_ ," he grits out, his mouth harsh around the unfamiliar consonants. He grips the bathroom counter until it _groans_ in protest, and his claws unsheathe themselves, scraping against the laminate uncomfortably. " _Theodore Raeken_."

His parents, the Doctors, the Vadeboncœurs, the Abaroas, the McCall Pack. _Teena_ , he thinks. _Liam_.

" _Theo_ ," he tries again, throat closing up. "You aren't _one-fifty-seven_ or _tieso_ anymore, you're _Theo_ ," He claws at the counter frantic, desperate, repeats the name again and again and _again_ , a mantra, until it stops tasting so strange and foreign on his tongue, until it stops sounding like someone else's name to his ears, until it stops feeling uncomfortable on his edges, like a puzzle piece that won't fit quite right.

"You're alone," he says, blunt, because maybe if he says it out loud, it'll finally sink in. It echoes in the dingy bathroom. His eyes stay locked on his own in the rusty mirror. "You're alone," he repeats, louder, "but that's _fine_. Because that's what you're _good at_." He traces the edge of one staple with his thumb, whispers, "it's _all_ you're good at."

He places his hands on the counter, firm. Looks himself square in the eyes. "They're not coming," he says, before correcting himself, "they _didn't_ come. And you _know why_ they didn't come."

He carefully doesn't say what he's thinking, which is that, _he_ didn't come, because there are some things Theo just can't bring himself to say out loud, even when he's the only one listening.

He cracks a smirk, the way he used to. It looks weird on his face, like something is stretched a little too far, the whole proportion of it jarring and uncomfortable. "Guess it's just us again," he whispers, and then, for good measure, one more time, _"Theo."_

\---

The shower is _nasty_ , but Theo doesn't have much of a choice, putting a towel down over the worst of the mold, and collapsing into the tub, sitting down on the towel and resting his head on his propped up knees. The water that streams down is lukewarm at best, but it's the best thing he's felt in _days_ , as it rinses the worst of the blood, sweat, and ash off his body. Theo feels like he's about to come out of his skin, but the warm water does a little to soothe the itchy buzzing feeling in his veins. It feels like being held.

The whiskey is wearing off, and the ringing in his ears sound like screams.

He, abruptly, wishes the warm streams of water were hands, strong and grounding, gripping his shoulder, winding across his neck, the spicy smell of ever-present anger washing over his senses, soothing his ragged edges like a salve.

All Theo smells is mold, his own blood, and whiskey. He curls in on himself tighter. The water feels cold, all of a sudden.

\---

_I think you were rotting down there. I also think, whatever happened to you? You deserved it._

_Trial one-fifty-seven: failure._

_You're not welcome here, chimera._

_All you are to_ us _, and everyone else, is an_ experiment.

_Some of us actually have a fucking heart._

_You're barely even human._

_I know_ , Theo thinks, choking on the weight of his own suppressed sob, his chest so heavy he can't _breathe_. _I_ know _._

_\---_

_They want you to love the whole damn world but you won't,_

_you want it all narrowed down to one fleshy man in the bath,_

_who knows what to do with his body, with his hands._

_\---_

He entertains the brief, petty thought of not returning to Beacon Hills. He has no reason to return to somewhere he isn't wanted.

 _Well,_ he thinks absently, _maybe one reason_.

And that's the heart of the matter, isn't it? Without him, Liam would be dead fifteen times over. And Theo isn't good for _much_ , isn't good for _Liam_ , but he can take a bullet like the best of them. _Literally_ , the best.

There's no doubt in his mind that Theo's going to be heading back. There's just no other option. The idea of leaving Liam _defenseless_ because _Theo_ felt . . . What? _Unloved_? _Unwanted?_ No one has ever loved Theo, and no one has _wanted_ him either, so it's not like anything has _changed_. The idea of leaving Beacon Hills while Liam's still there, still fighting for his life, makes Theo nauseous.

He hopes when he returns, they'll just pretend like this whole mess didn't happen. It's a lot less migraine-inducing than the alternative, in which Scott sits him down, says, " _Listen, it just wasn't worth the risk_ ," and Theo pastes a smile on his face, nodding indulgently and agreeably until he's finished. He thinks it'll be fine. That's how they've been dealing with the homeless thing and that's been working out okay so far.

 _He'll never love you back_ , the small-self preserving voice inside him says. The one who watched him slump into the leaves, as soon as the hunters said, _Dunbar_ , watched him take lashing after lashing without complaint, whispering, _you stupid bastard_ , the entire time.

 _I know_ , Theo thinks, and then: _It doesn't matter._

Theo has performed orthopedic surgery on himself in an alley, with nothing but a nail gun and two matches. He has cut into his own bone marrow, ripped his own heart out, reattached two of his toes. Theo has been torn apart again and again and again, with no reprieve in sight, and falling in love is _still_ the most painful thing he's ever done to himself.

The water has gone cold by now, icy and prickling. Theo's too tired to get up, nauseous and heartsick. Theo curls into a ball, laying listlessly in the moldy tub, and, for the first time in his life, or at least the parts of it that he can _remember_ , he lets _go,_ lets his control slip, as he _cries_ , and cries, and cries.

_\---_

_He was not dead yet, not exactly--_

_parts of him were dead already, certainly other parts were still only waiting_

_for something to happen, something grand, but it isn't_

_always about me,_

_He keeps saying, though he's talking about the only heart he knows--_

_He could build a city. Has a certain capacity. There's a niche in his chest_

_where a heart would fit perfectly_

_and he thinks if he could just maneuver one into place--_

_well then, game over._

\---

Theo gets out of the shower, eventually, when he starts to shiver. There's a pile of sweats outside his door and a bag of takeout, the smell of which makes his stomach clench in on itself, cramping uncomfortably. Theo grabs them both and shuts the door, pulling the sweats on quickly. They're a size too small but they're _clean_ , which is really all Theo can ask for, and the food -- a truly _obscene_ amount of burgers and fries, a large vanilla milkshake, mozzarella sticks -- is greasy as _fuck_ , but Theo hasn't eaten in _days_ \-- apparently, they decided he was only worth feeding _after_ he became an _experiment --_ and so he practically _inhales_ it, swallowing almost an entire burger whole, before downing half the milkshake in two indulgent gulps.

Ten minutes later and he's warm and satiated, licking the grease off his fingertips, before balling up the takeout bag and throwing it away. He's asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

\---

_It's not Tara this time, because that would be too kind. Instead, it's Liam pinning him to the wall of the hospital hallway by his throat. He isn't shifted, which is good, because Theo has_ missed _him, missed his clever hands and strong jaw. Liam's eyes are the kind of blue that he has to check regularly, to make sure he didn't just make it up in his own head, a color like that,_ unreal _, in every sense of the word. Theo hasn't checked in four_ days _, and it feels like he's been_ starving _for this, even as Liam drives his claws into Theo's chest and_ twists _viciously._

 _"The fuck do you need this for?" Liam asks, tone icy. It's the worst part of the nightmare, Theo thinks. He misses the_ heat _in Liam's voice, the indignation, the_ anger _. Liam's hands tighten_ hard _around his heart, and Theo almost_ laughs _, because this is how he feels around Liam most of the time anyways, pinned, helpless, grip tightening around his heart like a_ vice _._

 _Liam_ yanks _, snapping something that feels important, but not tearing it out. Theo feels the blood bubbling at his lips nonetheless, and he smiles._

 _"You're so fucking stupid," Theo whispers, tipping his head forward until their foreheads are pressed together. He can’t taste Liam’s breath on his tongue but he_ wishes _he could. "It was_ yours _, anyways."_

_Liam's expression doesn't change. He stares Theo right in the eyes, cold and unflinching, when he tears Theo's heart straight out of his body._

_Theo keeps staring, drinking the sight of him in -- stupid hair, pretty eyes, rounded shoulders -- clinging desperately to the image, before his vision starts to blacken, and he's fading._

_\---_

Theo wakes up and it's dark outside. There are five new gouge marks in his chest, and his right hand is _drenched_ in blood, but the bullet hole in his palm has healed up nicely and his heart's still in his chest so Theo considers it a win. He remembers the dream, because he _always_ remembers the dreams. It’s not the first time it was Liam instead of Tara, and it probably won't be the last.

Theo made his bed, now it's time to lie in it.

The alarm clock in his room is broken but Theo estimates that it's around midnight. He sighs. It's time to make the drive back.

Theo makes a quick trip around the room, picking up his old, bloody, hunter clothes and throwing the empty bottle of whiskey away. He has the keys to the room in the front pocket of his sweats, crammed right in front of the stolen wallet, and he's halfway to the door when something falls out of the jacket. He huffs, bends down to pick it up, and freezes.

Lying on the musty, vomit-colored carpet, is a _cell phone_.

It's a _flip phone_ , actually, but it would do the job just fine, if he picked it up and placed a call.

Theo's legs give out from underneath him and he collapses down onto the floor, legs crossed, as he eyes the phone warily. He stares at it, and it seems to stare back.

 _To call or not to call_ , Theo thinks nonsensically.

He spends a full ten minutes staring at that phone, eyes narrowed, considering, before he huffs, thinking, _god, you're pathetic_ , swipes the phone off the floor, and dials Scott's number, finger hovering over the _call_ button for a good thirty seconds, before he _immediately_ backspaces, dropping his head sideways onto the wall with a muted _thunk_ , and scrubbing a hand over his eyes.

 _Alone and in trouble with Scott McCall's number reluctantly dialed on a shitty-ass phone_ , Theo laughs, _sounds familiar._

He's abruptly, _absurdly glad_ he didn't place that call. What would he even _say?_ It would be so _uncomfortable_ , and Scott would probably half-heartedly make the offer to drive out and take him back to California, which Theo would then have to refuse, in order to avoid an even _more_ uncomfortable eleven-hour car drive.

Why would he call _Scott?_ Scott McCall is _not_ his alpha, _not_ his friend. Scott McCall cares about the entire world, besides Theo.

 _He doesn't care about you_ , a voice in his head points out, _but there_ is _someone who does._

Theo sighs, scrubbing his hand over his eyes even _harder_ , before dialing the second number.

He knows Liam's number by heart, obviously, just like he knows his Mom's license plate number, and Liam's locker combination, and like, how many eyelashes he has on his left eye, because Liam always falls asleep on Theo's lap when they try to watch a movie _(every single time_ they try to watch a movie, with the rare exception of romcoms with Melissa) _,_ and Theo doesn't want to _bother him_ , doesn't want to risk waking him up with his own nightmares -- Liam doesn't get enough sleep on a _good_ night -- and so he just sits there, fingers carding through Liam's stupid hair, nothing to do except count and resist the urge to do something _stupid,_ like brush his thumb across the gentle swell of Liam’s cheekbone.

Theo's just _observant_ , that's all.

He sits there for another five minutes, staring, before muttering, _"Fuck it_ ," and hitting the _call_ button, only to discover that there's no service.

He flips the phone shut, disgruntled, slips it into the pocket of his sweats, and heads out, picking up the clothes on his way out and slamming the door behind him.

He already wiped the prints off the gun he stole, dismantled it, and it's quick work to dump the pieces into the dumpster behind the motel. He's pretty sure this is the type of motel where people dump _bodies_ , so it's not like some metal scraps would draw any suspicion.

It takes him a couple minutes to get to the main office in order to check out. Rummaging around his pocket for the wallet makes his abdomen twinge, and he hopes he hasn't torn anything when he finally fished it out. He gives the woman at the counter another hundred, because she seems like she could use it, she _did_ deliver on the food and clothes, and because she's probably going to be the one cleaning the blood off the sheets in his room.

"Actually," Theo says, after he hands back the room keys, "can I have that?" He points to the beaten up stapler behind the desk. It's not _ideal_ , but it'll do for the drive back, just in case something else gets torn. She looks at him like she's pretty sure he's lost his mind. To be fair, there are still gouge marks in his chest, and his new sweats are just as bloody as the clothes he's holding. He gives her a winning smile, the charming one he's spent his adolescence perfecting, and she sighs, relenting, and handing him the stapler. He winks at her, hooking the stapler onto the waistband of the sweats and she colors.

Once he's out, he slumps down onto the steps in front of the entrance, fishing the phone back out and staring at it. This time there _is_ service, but he'll have to work up the nerve again to redial Liam's number.

He's just about to push the button for the first number, when a voice sounds from in front of him.

_"Hey kid, you need a ride?"_

Theo looks up, to find a bulky, greasy looking man looming over him, one hand on the latch of the passenger side door. There's a young, black guy -- who can't be much older than Theo-- shifting next to him, looking like he'd rather be _anywhere_ but here. Theo can sympathize. The weary-looking man driving the car is on the phone, a tinny, frustrated voice emanating from the other end of the line.

The creep hovering over Theo looks like _exactly_ the sort to demand _payment_ after a ride, either by whatever's left in the wallet he lifted, or by Theo dropping to his knees, and he's right about to tell him to _fuck all the way off_ , when he catches the tail end of the murmurs coming through the phone.

 _"--tilinski kid isn't giving us_ shit _, and I don't know how much long--"_

Theo's eyes narrow. His senses are shot to all hell, so he can't smell _wolfsbane_ , but he _can_ catalogue the evident _bulge_ in the creep's jacket, right where a holster would sit, and Theo almost _laughs_ , because it turns out, he _didn't_ drive far enough to escape the hunters after all, and because Stiles is a fucking _shit_. Theo _distinctly_ remembers the way he said, completely confident, _they need me back in D.C.,_ not, _I'm_ going _to D.C.,_ which are two _very_ different things, because Stiles has gotten _way_ too accustomed to living with werewolves. It niggled at Theo's brain at the time, but he ignored it because it wasn't _his_ place to interrogate the alpha's second, and it is _completely_ within the realm of possibility that Stiles _went_ looking for trouble without telling anyone, because he thought he could _handle it_ , because the F.B.I. has made Stiles cocky like that.

This would be easier if he had kept the gun, but Theo hasn't gotten _this far_ by relying on fucking firearms. He flares his eyes.

" _Stilinski kid_?" Theo drawls. "Would that be _Stiles Stilinski_ by any chance?"

The creep _drags_ the young guy in front of him, like a fucking human _shield_ , and spits, "You're one of _them_ ," while he reaches for his firearm but he's slow, far too slow, because Theo's already pitching himself forward.

He closes his arms around the young guy's shoulders, _throwing_ him to the side, where he hits the stairs with a grunt, and zeroes in on where the creep is still trying to get the gun unholstered, and Theo strikes the front of his lower shin with the flat part of his food _hard_ , hearing his tibia _snap_ painfully, and the creep collapses to his knees just as he gets his gun out, training it on Theo, because apparently, he's _determined_.

Theo's determined too.

He whips the stapler out from the waistband of his sweats, pulling on the silver latch on the back until it swings open, and _swings_ it at the creep's hand, just as he gets his finger on the trigger -- shooting _once, twice_ , the shots going wide as his hands shake uncontrollably -- resulting in the gun being _knocked_ out of his grip, and a staple planted firmly in the back of his hand, and he _howls_ in pain.

"You’re _pathetic_ ," Theo spits, listening to the man whimper, whipping the stapler _left, right, left,_ swinging it across his face, the metal meeting his skull in brutal _cracks_ , and then swinging it _forward_ , straight into his forehead. The man falls to the pavement, unconscious.

The staples in his face glints as Theo steps over his body, leaning into the car window, and grinning darkly.

" _Now_ ," he says, "tell me where they're keeping Stiles." Theo lifts the stapler up, cracking it twice menacingly. The man starts to cry.

\---

The man in the car doesn’t actually tell him, because Theo's life can't be _easy_ for once. No, _instead_ , when Theo forces him out of the car, he makes for a hand-grenade in his belt that absolutely _reeks_ of wolfsbane, even to Theo's human-level senses, and Theo has no choice but to catch the man's wrist in his palm, twist it until he hears it _pop_ , and then swing him into Theo's chest, holding the stapler _hard_ against his throat. The man flails, scrabbling for purchase on Theo's hands, arms, shoulders, gasping desperately in his fruitless struggle for air, before he finally turns the correct shade of blue, and slumps forward into the car. Theo rolls his eyes.

\---

"Well," Theo sighs, "that was fucked up."

He hears a laugh ringing from the direction of the main office entrance, hysterical.

"It _was_ ," the young guy agrees, "wasn't it."

\---

The young guy on the steps is still conscious, and _easily_ the most helpful of the three, answering Theo's _perfectly reasonable question_ with a direct, _He's in Calgary, they_ all _are._

"I need you to take me there," Theo says. "What’s your name?"

"Spencer," he replies obediently, hands shaking.

"Okay, _Spencer_ ," Theo says gently. "What's it going to take for you to drive me to this place in Calgary?"

Spencer licks his lips, nervously. His heart hasn’t stopped _pounding_ the entire time, but Theo thinks it might've calmed a little after the two older hunters were knocked out.

"Fifteen thousand," he replies. Theo winces inwardly, but he nods.

"Okay," Theo says, keeping his face impassive, as he helps him up, grasping his forearm and hauling him upright. "I can get the money."

“Yeah?” Spencer frowns, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "How do I know you have the funds?"

Theo laughs, perfectly aware of how _sharp_ it makes his teeth look, and _relishing_ in the way the guy's heart rate picks up a little.

" _Because,_ the way I see it," Theo replies patiently, "your options are driving me to Calgary on the _chance_ that you'll get fifteen-thousand-dollars, or" he adds, "ending up like _them._ " He hooks a thumb behind him, where the two men are still laying unconscious. "Even _if_ I don't hurt you," Theo ponders out loud, absently, "what _exactly_ do you think they'll do to you, when they find out that you let me _escape_?" Spencer pales considerably, and gulps. He makes his way to the driver's side, shutting the door and placing both hands on the wheel, glancing towards Theo expectantly.

Theo grins. " _'Atta boy_."

\---

_What's in Calgary_ , is the first question that Theo asks, fifteen minutes after they make it out of the motel parking lot, as he throws his old, bloody clothes into the back.

"It's where we were supposed to be heading," Spencer says, seeming more steady now that they've left the other two behind, "before you, uh," he frowns, eyes darting sideways, "interrupted." He sighs, slumping a little in his seat. "It's a prison that they apparently got control over a couple months ago," he explains, "I just joined up last week-- they picked me up on their way through Montana -- but, they told me they've been using it to . . . _You know_."

"Imprison supernaturals," Theo offers helpfully, and Spencer nods, grimacing. "Okay," Theo says, cracking his knuckles. "Guess we’re breaking that asshole out of jail, then." He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. " _God_ ," he mutters, "what a _week_."

\---

"So," Theo drawls, absently tracing patterns on the window while they get on the highway. It's been forty-five minutes of complete silence, and he can tell it's making Spencer antsy, and Theo's kind of a nice guy these days, so he decides to bear the brunt of breaking the ice, "why'd you become a hunter?"

Spencer tenses, jaw flexing furiously. "A _monster_ put my sister in the hospital," he grits out.

"Yeah?" Theo laughs bitterly. "One _killed mine_."

Spencer eyes him, confused, but releases some of the tension in his muscles, relaxing against the seat. "That’s what I need the money for," Spencer sighs. "The hospital bills."

"What, the hunters don't give you a _paycheck?_ "

Spencer laughs, sardonic. "Nah," he replies. "Its, uh—" he clears his throat, “ _commission based._ Based on your kill count.”

"So you took the job anyways, because you wanted revenge," Theo surmises, fingers drumming on the dashboard.

"Yeah," Spencer replies. "But, it—” he pauses, shaking his head, a slight grimace twisting his mouth, “It wasn't what I thought it would be."

“No,” Theo agrees with a murmur, resting his head against the frosty glass, watching the blurred cars rush past. "It almost never is.”

A fairly comfortable silence settles, before Theo can't help but pry, "you said you guys were heading to Calgary anyways, _before_. The _hell_ were you doing in _Utah?_ "

"They were holding someone as bait in the R&D center outside of Salt Lake, I think." he replies. "We were supposed to be the prison transpo for some of the people who came for them, whoever they could lure in, I guess." Spencer frowns. "I'm not really sure what happened with that, honestly. One second we're supposed to drive a couple people across the northern border, and the next, apparently, someone _set the entire building on fire?"_ He barks out a laugh, before shaking his head, disbelieving. "Isn't that _insane?"_

"Damn," Theo offers neutrally. "That's crazy."

\---

“ _Oh my god,_ ” Spencer snaps, right at the beginning of hour three, so sudden that it makes Theo _jolt_. “Just _call_ her already.”

Theo frowns. “ _Who?”_

Spencer huffs out an exasperated breath. “Whoever the hell you so _clearly_ want to call, but _won’t_ , like a fucking _pussy._ ” Theo freezes for a split second, feeling caught out, because when the _fuck_ did he get so transparent, but Spencer seems to take his shock as confusion, because he rushes to explain: “you’ve been flipping that thing open and shut for _hours_ now,” he says, flicking his eyes pointedly down to the flip phone clutched _tight_ in Theo’s hands, and then taking a hand off the wheel to scrub it tiredly across his eyes. “Just fucking _call her_ , man.”

" _Fuck off_ ," Theo scowls, debating denying it for a solid two seconds, before just slumping in his seat, deflated. “ _Him_ ,” Theo corrects, with a long, drawn-out sigh.

" _Him_ , then," Spencer acquiesces with a nod.

"What about you?" Theo asks, after a couple moments of silence. "You got a girl?"

Spencer sighs, tired. "Kind of," he relents, and then winces. "It’s complicated. With my sister and everything, I--" he hunches his shoulders, "I'm not what she needs. She deserves better."

"Buddy," Theo says, laughing, "you have _no_ idea."

_\---_

"Oh, _shit_ ," Spencer swears, on his fifteenth or sixteenth judgmental look toward Theo and the flip phone. "Dude, I think you're _bleeding_. I mean," he frowns, "there was already blood on your shirt when I met you," he frowns deeper, "and then some more blood when you hijacked this car, _but_ ," he darts his eyes nervously towards Theo's shirt, "I'm pretty sure _that_ wasn't there _before_."

Theo follows his line of sight to a large, slowly growing, bloodstain on his shirt, one that, _sure enough_ , looks more fresh than the rest. "God _fucking_ damnit," he growls, pulling his shirt up over his head in order to inspect the damage.

"Do you need me to pull over?" Spencer asks, voice wavering, seemingly torn between inspecting Theo's messed up torso, and trying to _avoid it at all costs_. "Get you to a hospital or something?"

"Nah," Theo replies, scrubbing a hand across the underside of his jaw, exhausted. "It's fine, I just busted a couple staples, I can fix it."

"Like, _surgical staples_?" Spencer frowns, "How, _exactly_ , do you plan on--" he chokes violently on his spit as he catches sight of the stapler in Theo's hands, pulled swiftly from his waistband, " _oh my god,"_ he wheezes, but Theo ignores him, lining the stapler up and holding the pieces of skin together properly. "Do _not_ ," Spencer hisses, looking a little green, "staple your own _body_ together in this car, I _swear to god_ , _what the fuck is wrong with you_?"

" _Relax_ ," Theo replies, rolling his eyes as he wipes the excess blood away with his shirt. He clicks the stapler together, one, two, three times, and then the wound is closed. He examines it, running a tentative finger down the line, testing.

"I'm gonna be _sick_ ," Spencer manages, before he _throws_ his head out the drivers side window, _swerving_ three lanes over, and Theo has to take control of the wheel while Spencer empties the contents of his stomach out onto the interstate.

\---

At around seven in the morning they pull over at a rest stop around Helena, Montana.

"You've been texting an awful lot," Spencer says, as he pulls into the Panda Express parking lot, "That mean you finally talked to your _boy_?"

"He's not _mine_ ," Theo replies reflexively, and then almost _blushes_ at the horribly telling _defensiveness_ of it. Spencer raises a dubious brow that Theo ignores. "I'm sorry," Theo says, not very sorry at all, " _how many_ text messages have you ignored since we started this drive?" Spencer has the decency to look guilty. Theo raises an eyebrow. "And _how many_ of them are from your girlfriend?"

Spencer bristles. "She's _not_ my--" he cuts himself off, granting Theo a sheepish smile, seemingly conceding defeat. Theo smiles back.

He clears his throat. "No, I was, uh," he rubs his neck awkwardly, "lining up a buyer. I know a good one further up in Montana. I'm getting you your money."

Spencer frowns. "What you gonna sell?"

"Don't worry about it," Theo counters, flippant, before giving Spencer his breakfast order, and adding a deliberately nonchalant, "and ask them for a cup filled with ice and a butter knife. Pay extra if you have to," as he folds the cash into Spencer's palm. He narrows his eyes at Theo suspiciously, before heading inside. Theo shuts his eyes, slumping against the seat, resting for what just seems like a couple seconds, but when he opens them, Spencer's coming out of the place with a bag full of steaming containers in one hand and a Styrofoam cup in the other.

He hands Theo his box of noodles, the cup and knife balanced on top, and Theo replies an absent, _thanks_ , as he places the box on the dash, and slumps down far enough into the seat that he has a workably flat surface.

Theo has worked it out, as soon as Spencer brought it up. Fifteen-thousand isn't _that_ much, but its enough that the cash in the stolen wallet wouldn't cover it. Everything inside Theo is worth _much_ more than fifteen-thousand, except for his _molars_ , which usually go for about five-thousand each, but Theo _really_ doesn't want to rip out almost half of his available molars. He only has one kidney and his appendix was taken out a _very_ long time ago. There's really only one option.

The thing is, Theo _isn't actually_ a shifter; he's an experiment. He's a _freak of science_ , which means his organs heal the same _outside his body_ , as they would _inside his body,_ which is why they’re worth so much. And besides, even if they _didn't_ heal, the liver is regenerative anyways. Theo's _entire_ liver would go for about fifteen-million, probably, give or take a few, adjust for inflation, etc. He only needs a small piece to pay Spencer. It might be a little _messy_ , since the knife is pretty dull and there aren't _nearly_ enough napkins in the takeout bag ( _why_ do fast food places always _do that_ ) but it won’t be _hard_.

Theo brings the knife to the bottom of his rib cage, using the knife as a staple remover to get rid of the metal clip binding the two halves of his abdomen together, and it _immediately_ opens up.

A loud crashing noise interrupts his concentration, and draws Theo's attention to where Spencer has dropped _everything in his arms_ onto the pavement of the parking lot. " _Hold up,"_ Spencer wheezes, scrambling to the passenger side of the car, "what the _fuck_?"

"Dude, the wallet only has, like, two-thousand," Theo explains patiently, "I'm broke. I'm _getting_ the _rest_."

"How is _this_ \--" he gestures, a little manically, at Theo's abdomen, "getting the _rest?"_

Theo considers not telling him, because _really_ it’s none of his business, it's just something that could end up _hurting_ Theo, if he decides to pull over and sell Theo for parts. Except he's pretty sure he could kill Spencer with a flick of his wrist. He _wouldn't_ but he _could_. "My liver," Theo elaborates, before bringing the knife back down to his torso, concentrating, only to _jolt_ in surprise, when it's _ripped_ out of his hands.

" _Stop that,"_ Spencer screeches, holding the knife out of Theo's range of motion. Theo frowns.

"Okay, _fine_ , you don't want to look? Is that it?" Theo tilts his head, considering. "We passed a Walmart a couple minutes back. I'll need a pack of new shirts and some isopropyl alcohol," he says, before making a grab for the knife, when Spencer darts his eyes, frenzied, between Theo and the knife, and _hurls_ it somewhere far behind the Panda Express, where it makes a loud crashing noise, like glass breaking, and a car alarm starts to sound, shrill and unceasing.

" _Dude_ ," Theo frowns, bewildered and kind of _frustrated_. "What--?"

"You are _not_ ," Spencer hisses, face completely drained of color, "cutting out your goddamn _liver, holy shit."_

"Why not?" he asks, completely bemused. "It's just _part_ of it," Theo assures, "it's _fine_ , livers are regenerative anyway."

"That is _so_ not the point," Spencer spits, before laughing, high and hysterical. Theo eyes him warily, concerned.

“Why are you so freaked out?” Theo asks, frowning. “ _What, exactly_ , do you think Monroe’s people _do_?”

Spencer makes a strangled noise. “ _Not this,”_ he splutters, “why do you think I’m fucking _broke_ , man? I haven’t _killed_ anyone!” he inhales, exhales, and then inhales again, wheezing a bit. Theo thinks he might pass out, so he puts a comforting hand his arm, but it’s a hand covered in blood, so it probably isn’t _that_ comforting. "You _can't just_ \--" Spencer waves his arms around, flailing, half-crazed, " _fucking"_ he flaps his hands in Theo's direction, " _operate on yourself in a_ parking lot _, are you fucking kidding me?"_

" _Oh_ ," Theo replies, _understanding_ dawning on him _,_ "Is _that_ what this is about?" He shakes his head, laughing. " _Relax_ ," he reassures Spencer, "it's nothing I haven't done before."

" _Excuse me?"_ Spencer _shrieks_. "What the _fuck_ is _that supposed to mean?"_

\---

Theo ends up not removing his liver at _all_ , cancelling on the buyer, and they're no longer allowed to enter any Panda Expresses within the country, because one of the employees came outside to see what all the ruckus was about and passed out as soon as he caught sight of Theo's exposed rib cage. Also Theo's pretty sure they saw Spencer throw the knife.

Spencer steps around his sad pile of noodles, splattered on the floor, and just gets something from the Taco Bell next door, and then they have to _floor it_ out of the parking lot when they hear the rapidly approaching siren of a police car.

"Look," Spencer says, in between bites of a burrito that Theo thinks is filled _exclusively_ with cheese, "your whole _plan_ is to, like, turn yourself in, or whatever, to bust your friend out, because obviously, you’ve lost your _goddamn_ mind, but _I’ll_ get reward money for it, so. We're good."

"Yeah?" Theo asks dubiously, skeptical because _nothing_ in his life has _ever_ been this easy.

"Yeah," Spencer nods, firm. "Now, _what_ did you mean, when you said--"

\---

_"It just doesn't make any sense_ ," Spencer argues, maniacally waving one hand in seeming demonstration, "They _said_ that if you change the past, you create a _branching timeline_. So if Captain America really _had_ gone back in time to marry Peggy, it should've created a different timeline. So, _why--"_ Spencer yells, and the car swerves a little. Theo grimaces. " _why_ the _fuck_ , Cap was on the bench, just _waiting_ for them to notice him, instead of using the time machine to come back. That shouldn't be possible. He should be in an alternate timeline, using the magic wristwatch, or whatever, to come back. They just _violated_ all the _quirky_ fucking time-travel rules that _they_ established, I just--" Spencer sighs, in a sharp, punctuated exhale. "It just makes me so fucking _mad_."

"You . . ." Theo tries, nearly struck speechless by the pure _vehemence_ , "seem like you've thought _way too hard_ about this."

"It keeps me up at night," Spencer admits with a shrug. "Don't even get me _started_ on the _Accords_ , oh my _god--"_

\---

"--because he's _the fucking worst_ ," Theo finishes, drumming his fingers on the dash and unable to suppress the helpless twitch of his mouth.

"Uh," Spencer says, "it kind of sounds like you're _in love_ with this guy." Theo freezes. " _Dude,"_ Spencer crows gleefully, and Theo shrinks further into his seat, "are you _blushing?_ I watched you take down Anderson and Gomez in under two minutes, with a goddamn _stapler_ , and _that's_ what throws you?" He cackles, loud and obnoxious.

" _Shut the fuck up,"_ Theo hisses, flustered, "you can’t say _shit_ , I _know_ you'r--"

\---

"Look," Theo tries, breaking two hours of total and complete silence, as they cross the US-Canadian border, "I'm _sorry_. I shouldn't have called you a little bitch." He pauses. "And I probably shouldn't have called you a _big_ bitch either."

" _And?_ " Spencer prompts, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel.

" _And_ ," Theo relents, with an exasperated sigh, "I shouldn’t have thrown your ice cream out the window. Or gotten us banned from Baskin Robbins."

Spencer slumps in his seat, chuckling. "No," he replies, "no, what one was on me, you're good. _I'm_ sorry. I shouldn't've called you . . ." he pauses, awkward, "what I _did_ , and I _definitely_ should _not_ have called _Liam_ what I _did_ \--" and Theo lets out a relieved sigh that he's not going to _repeat it_ , because _last time_ , the claws and fangs started coming out,"--and I probably shouldn't have thrown your flip phone into the deep fryer either."

"It's fine," Theo relents, "Your buddy -- the crying one -- dropped his phone in the car when I pulled him out of it."

Spencer frowns. "Does accidentally starting a fire count as arson? Does it count as a _crime_? Oh my god, am I a _criminal?_ "

Theo can't help the snicker that escapes him, as he says, "I would worry less about _accidental arson_ , and more about your _domestic terrorist organization_."

\---

Theo finally gets a shirt when they get to Canada. Spencer stops in a clothing store for a couple minutes, and then walks back out with a My Little Pony t-shirt that's _way_ too small for him, because Spencer’s a _dick_ , as Theo spent the whole drive learning. Spending eleven hours cooped up in a vehicle really lets you learn new and exciting insights about people like that.

Theo hasn’t had a blood-free shirt in _days_ , though and so he can’t really complain. He pulls it on with barely even an eye roll, and Spencer frowns. It fits like a crop top, just _barely_ kissing the top of his belly button.

Theo winks. “I think I kind of pull it off,” he says.

“ _No one_ could pull _that_ off,” Spencer scowls. Theo hears his heart skip a beat and snickers, instinctively dodging the arm that comes up to smack him.

\---

“A'ight,” Spencer says, after Theo has changed his shirt back to the bloody one and tied up his own wrists. The air has changed since they entered Calgary at noon, gone tense and expectant. Spencer has started white knuckling the wheel again and it’s starting to set Theo’s teeth on edge. “We’re only a couple minutes away, so if you want to call your boy, now’s your last chance.”

This time the phone _isn’t_ a flip phone, it’s a touch screen, which just irritates Theo since he doesn’t have the ability to flip it open and shut and open again as he considers calling. _You're alone,_ Theo thinks, _you're alone but that's fine, because that's what you're good at-- it's all you're good at. They're not coming. They didn't come, and you know_ why _they didn't come._

He thinks, _they wouldn't come for you, but they would_ probably _come for_ Stiles.

 _You’re being an idiot, Raeken_ , he thinks uncharitably, just as they’re pulling around a corner, and _dials._

For a couple seconds it just _rings_ , and Theo thinks, _he’s not going to pick up. He doesn’t answer calls from random numbers and he doesn’t listen to his voicemails, this was a stupid fucking—_

 _“Hello?”_ Liam’s voice, sleep-raspy but perfectly clear, echoes down the line, and Theo can’t fucking _breathe_ , every muscle in his body freezing up abruptly. He draws in a ragged breath, and blows it out, as his heart stutters and his eyes sting, because _god_. He brings the phone to his ear with one shaking hand, and tries to say something _, anything_ , but his throat is closed up completely, swollen thick with emotion, and all he can do is _breathe. “Theo?”_ Liam asks, frantic, and Theo’s whole _body_ spasms, because it doesn't sound like something strange and foreign on _his_ tongue, it sounds like the most natural thing in the world. It sounds like _his name_ , like something clicking into place, Theo _grounded_ , finally, after being laid bare, scraped raw, floating in the ether, everything coming into razor-sharp focus after _hours_ of feeling muzzy and indistinct, somehow existing outside of his body, ever since Tamora Monroe strapped him down and put a knife to his chest. Spencer slants a worried look at him from the driver's seat. Some loud crashing noises sound from the phone, and he hears Liam panting on the other end, something half-crazed in his tone that Theo can’t place, as he asks, “ _Theo, is that you?”_

 _“Liam,_ ” he manages, shaking, voice _embarrassingly_ hoarse and the syllable sounding like it’s been _ripped_ from his throat. Liam draws a sharp, shocked inhale on the other end of the line. “I—“ Theo tries, but his throat keeps closing up, eyes burning, “I—“ he chokes out, “ _Liam—“_

“ _Hey,”_ Liam says, firm but gentle, always so fucking _gentle,_ and Theo feels his eyes _burn_ as his hand scrabbles for purchase on the dashboard, something to keep him fucking _tethered_ , so that he doesn't come straight out of his skin, “baby, _shh_ , I’m _here,”_ he says, “ _I’m here,_ you’re _okay.”_ A pause, in which Theo finally drags in a gasping, heaving breath, and then, Liam’s voice again, panicked, “you _are_ okay, right _? Theo?_ Where _are_ you? We— _”_

“Yeah,” Theo finally manages, “yeah, I’m— _“ fine_ , he doesn’t say, because he’s self-aware enough to know that his heart would skip a beat.

“Dude _, hurry_ ,” Spencer hisses, as they round another corner.

“I’m in Calgary,” Theo says, all in a rush, words mashed together, “Stiles never made it to D.C. They’ve got him in some kind of supernatural prison, and I _might_ be able to break him out, but I could really use some backup, okay?” Spencer starts gesturing _frantically_ to him to end the call. “I have to go.”

“I— _what?_ Baby, _wait_ —“

“Sorry,” Theo manages, as they begin to descend upon the tall, spidery gates. “We’re _here_ now, I’m going in,” he says, a little frantic. “ _Love you._ ”

Theo hangs up the phone, and then _freezes_.

Spencer stares at him, wide-eyed. “Did you just—?”

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Theo manages eloquently, before dropping his head into his hands. “Oh my _god_ ,” he groans. “ _Fuck.”_

A moment of silence, and then:

“So,” Spencer starts, “that was the guy who you’re in love with, who ' _doesn’t like you back'?”_

“I’m _not—_ “ Theo attempts, before relenting with a long sigh. “ _Yeah_.”

“The one who called you _baby_ ,” Spencer says, _tone dripping_ with skepticism, and Theo frowns down at the phone.

“Yeah,” Theo replies, frowning harder. “Yeah, no, I don’t know. That’s . . _. new.”_

“Sure,” Spencer nods, slow, and then: “alright, Raeken, we’re here, look alive.” Spencer grins. “And by _alive_ , I mean half-dead.” Theo rolls his eyes, but slumps into the seat obediently, letting his eyelids fall shut.

\---

Theo hears someone open a car door, not reacting when thick fingers tip his chin up, seemingly to inspect his face.

 _Identification_ , someone asks, and he hears Spencer reply, _Theodore Raeken_ , and the guy is struck absolutely speechless for a brief second, before he breathes, _no shit? You caught the first chimera? Fuck, dude, good for you_. And he can definitely _hear_ Spencer's puzzled frown, even as he replies awkwardly, _yeah, uh, thanks_ , with a forced laugh.

He hears Spencer's heart spike to an _alarming_ level when he's offered his reward money: a tidy sum of half a million dollars, that Spencer double checks twice, _thrice,_ to make sure that he hasn't misheard, and Theo has to actively try not to grimace, because he _knows_ how much he's worth, how much each piece and part is sold for, and who's willing to pay what, but it seems clear that Monroe now knows too. Granted, she's _way_ underpaying Spencer, but five-hundred-thousand-dollars is a _big_ step from _worthless_ , which is the word she spent an entire _night_ taunting him with, right up there next to _experiment_.

He hears Spencer's car back out of the gated penitentiary, just as someone depresses a needle right into his neck, and his head starts to go muzzy, but he also hears Spencer's whisper, barely audible over the hum of his SUV:

 _Man, whatever they're planning to do with you, for half-a-fucking-million has_ gotta _be_ sick _._ A sigh, and then, _there's no way I'm leaving you here to die, Raeken._

He says, _I'll come back for you_ , says, _I'll come back for you soon, okay? I'll help you get back out, I promise_ , and then nothing, nothing, nothing but the ringing silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, there we have it!! finally, the question of what happened to theo is ANSWERED!!!!! :DDD A couple of you predicted this in the comments and it made me SO happy to read through all your theories. The plot is thickening now, and I'm really excited to see what the future brings :D I do believe we are now over halfway done with this story :))
> 
> As always, tell me what you liked, what you didn't!! All feedback is welcomed, and GREATLY appreciated :)) you'll be happy to know that every single comment absolutely makes my day
> 
> If you want to scream at me on tumblr, feel free to hit me up at [inabottlelikelightning](https://www.inabottlelikelightning.tumblr.com/)


	8. you will open your wounds, and make them a garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh GOD you guys, I have so much to say. I don't know how long this author's note is going to be but !!!!! hhhh  
> okay, so it's been a while, and I have been GRINDING to get this chapter out because I wanted to give y'all something for the holidays :) so here you go. Also, we now have some [BEAUTIFUL ART](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28214655) for this story thanks to the amazing [bobbersbme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbersbme/pseuds/bobbersbme). I'll figure out how to embed images into this story eventually, but for now, go check it out over there!! There's something for each chapter :)
> 
> This one is..... a lot. That's all I'm going to say. For Christmas, and for waiting a whole month and being so kind and supportive and encouraging, here you go, here's chapter 8. It comes in at a light and breezy 23k, so. Yeah. I probably should have split it into 2 chapters but I literally could not bring myself to. Y'all deserve it.
> 
> This is too long to proofread and I am physically incapable of looking at it any longer. I wrote this entire thing in three days, so feel free to point out any typo's (you'll be doing me a favor!!)
> 
> love you guys to the moon and back. this is a big one. I hope you enjoy!!

It's harder than they expect to find a motel room outside Salt Lake. Liam, Scott, and Malia had to snort a line of powdery wolfsbane ash through a dollar bill to heal the burns in their lungs, which was exactly as horrible as Liam thought it would be.

("It's not just wolfsbane," Scott had said, brows drawn together as he dusts his hands off. "I still had a little bit left from some of the things that Deaton gave me." He tilts his head toward the neat line of ash on the hood of the car. "I added some Coltsfoot too. For internal healing."

"Whatever," Malia snapped. "Does it _matter_? Can we just get this over with already?"

"It's a good idea," Argent nodded, ignoring her. "Without the Coltsfoot, I think the ash in your lungs might do more harm then good.")

 _Whatever_ the fuck he just did a line of, Liam's nose is still irritated as they stop at motel after motel, trying to find a vacancy during the Thanksgiving rush period.

It takes them an hour of driving around, Lydia and Scott bickering over the Google Maps app open on a tablet on Scott's lap, Malia screaming at them over the phone to just hurry the fuck up and pick something, borderline tailgating them in her road rage, Argent in the drivers seat, looking like he regrets not being the supernatural-murdering type of hunter anymore.

Everything's kind of background noise, though, because Liam's still stuck on the flaming warehouse they just left behind; a frustratingly underwhelming discovery for an eleven-hour drive to find Theo, but an _annoyingly_ cryptic one as well, and Liam's running it in his head, gears turning as he looks through the window, completely unseeing.

 _Induction,_ a voice in his head says, _it's the best way to try to make_ sense _out of it all. To think through things._ It sounds like Theo, and Liam's heart hurts. Maybe it's a product of the internal burns, but probably not.

 _He's right,_ Mason had said. _Observations that produce generalizations and theories._

 _Exactly_ , Theo replied. _Observation, Pattern, Hypothesis, Theory._

Liam tries to puzzle it out, raking his hands through his hair, but he just can't _think_ , can't connect the dots, he's too angry, too discombobulated, thoughts too jumbled, and he's not _Mason_ or _Theo_ , he's just . . . Liam. Good in a fight when he's angry, and not much else.

 _Stop that,_ the voice snaps, Theo again, and Liam almost smiles. _That's not helping anyone. C'mon, think. Observations. What'd you see? What do you know?_

 _Okay,_ Liam thinks, _Okay, fine._

 _Observations,_ Theo prompts.

 _Observations_ , Liam concedes.

Observations.

Theo was taken by hunters who thought he was Liam. Theo was tortured by hunters who thought he was Liam. The last Liam saw of him was when he was being rooted through like a goody bag by Monroe and her surgical instruments, strapped down on an examination table, and told that no one was coming for him, that no one would _ever_ come for him.

_Keep going. More recent. New observations._

Theo was being held in a warehouse, which has been on fire, for at least the last few hours. No one died in the fire. All it did was burn wolfsbane.

 _Good,_ Theo says, and it's _stupid_ to blush because of a voice in his own head, but Liam never proclaimed to be the smartest. _Pattern,_ Theo prompts.

Liam frowns. _I don't know what that_ means.

 _Yes, you do,_ Theo replies. _You idiot, I'm a manifestation of your subconscious. If I know it, it means_ you _do too._

Liam sighs, scrubbing a hand across his jaw.

 _Come_ on, _we do this all the time, I_ know _you've got it in you. Pattern._

 _Pattern,_ Liam repeats, considering.

Pattern.

The hunters aren't an organized enough force to actually be willing to die for their cause, especially at the lower levels. When things go wrong, that means every man for himself. It's something they've taken advantage of before in the fight against Monroe.

 _You’re right,_ Theo replies. _So what?_

The hunters wouldn't have tried to save Theo from a burning building, no matter how invested in their "experiment" they were.

Liam winces inwardly at the word, even as he thinks it.

 _You're so weird,_ Theo says. _Keep going. What about the wolfsbane?_

Whatever they used on Theo wasn't regular, natural wolfsbane; Liam had garnered that much from his brief visit, even as he was flashing in and out of the room. It was something special, something _specific_ , something tailored.

 _Expensive,_ Theo suggests. _Rare. Difficult to develop._

 _Difficult to replace,_ Liam finishes. _Costly to lose._

Their first priority would've been the wolfsbane, and yet wolfsbane was the only thing that burned. Clearly, by the time anyone became aware of the fire, it was too late to salvage the wolfsbane.

 _I'm impressed,_ Theo says, and Liam flushes, just a little, ducking his head and turning more of his body to face the window when Lydia shoots him a weird look, temporarily distracted from her argument about the merits of Satellite Mode with Scott. _Okay, so what's your hypothesis?_

Hypothesis.

The wolfsbane was the first thing to go. Unless it was some kind of freak accident with whatever they used to grow the wolfsbane --

 _Induction doesn't account for freak accidents, Liam_ , Theo interrupts. _And besides, if that happened, you would've found my crispy corpse somewhere in there._

Liam winces _outwardly_ , heart twisting, a wave of nausea rising up inside him.

 _You saw me,_ Theo continues, unperturbed. _I was_ completely _strapped down._

So, hypothesis. The wolfsbane was the first thing to go.

_Almost there, you're doing great._

Someone destroyed their wolfsbane store on _purpose._

 _Now,_ Theo says, and Liam can _hear_ the shit-eating grin in his voice, _who would do such a thing?_

 _Oh my god,_ Liam thinks, heart beating faster.

_You got a theory, Dunbar? What does all the math add up to?_

Someone was able to burn their stock of wolfsbane from the inside. Theo didn't die in the fire, and there wasn't anybody who would've helped him out.

Theory.

"He escaped," Liam realizes, only noticing too late that he said it out loud, everyone else in the car gone silent as they turn to focus on him, and Liam shrinks into his seat, just a little.

There's an unreadable look on Lydia's face. "Interesting," she says, eyeing him like she's trying to work something out in her head. "How do you figure that?"

"I, uh--" he manages, wincing. "Inductive reasoning."

Lydia's eyebrows shoot up so fast that they disappear into her hairline. Argent is staring at Liam in the rearview mirror like he's grown a second head.

"I don't think so," Scott dismisses, frowning. "He would've found a way to contact us. Called us, or something, to let us know where he was."

A beaten-up blue truck parked on the edge of the preserve in the dark of the night, a deputy pounding on the window. _They already know_.

Glassy, green eyes on a bruised face, half-delirious with pain, body strapped to a cold examination table, torso ripped open. _They all know_. _They're not coming._

"Would he?" Liam whispers, but it's lost in the hum of the car beneath them, the din of Lydia and Scott ganging up against _Argent_ this time, the sound of Liam's heart thumping loudly in his chest.

\---

Eventually, Liam loses his already tenuous grip on his patience, an itch to _do something_ starting to roil underneath his skin, and he has to keep himself _busy_ , before he does something crazy like claw his way out of a moving vehicle.

He snatches the tablet from Scott.

" _I'll_ find a place, _Christ,"_ he huffs, but is silently grateful when Scott just accepts it. Liam begins to call out directions.

\---

They finally pull up to a motel that looks empty enough _—_ just _them_ , having lost Malia and Kira a couple minutes back, probably because of Malia's creative driving — but it's so seedy that Liam's pretty sure that's dried blood decorating the front of the main office. He can't really smell anything, since there's still ash in his nose, but he's been at this long enough to know blood when he sees it.

"Lovely," Lydia deadpans with a tight smile, as she steps over the suspicious-looking stain on the concrete. The rest of them follow.

The whole place gives Liam an unsettled kind of feeling, like an itch deep inside his _bones_ , where he can't scratch. It raises his hairs on end and he doesn't _like_ it.

When they get inside, the woman at the front desk is drinking straight out of a bottle of Schnapps, alternating between generous swigs and taking desperate puffs of a cigarette, like she can't decide which she needs _more_ , all as she furiously chomps on a wad of gum.

"Uh, ma'am," Scott approaches, brows furrowed in that painfully earnest way of his. "Are you okay?" A hysterical giggle bubbles up from her throat, borderline deranged, and it's anything but reassuring.

"Right," Liam says, stepping up after a couple more minutes of nothing but maniacal laughter. "Can we get three rooms, please?" Scott shoots him a slightly admonishing look from where he stands, but Liam honestly can't be bothered to give a single flying _fuck._

She nods, sloppily digging through a drawer of keys before depositing them haphazardly on the counter. "You know," she slurs musingly, "we usually just get _truckers_ in here." She hiccups, and then lets out an impressive belch that makes Lydia frown. Another hysterical giggle. "But you're the second pretty-boy to stay here _today_."

The itch in his bones, the blood on the pavement, and Liam _knows_ with a bone-deep kind of certainty who the first was.

But instead of asking if she got a name or something — since he _knows_ Theo wouldn't go by his real name, and also, Liam's kind of running on fumes right now — he blurts, "How pretty are we talking?"

Her eyes narrow, even for as glazed-over as they are. "M'not really supposed to say," she says, swiveling around in her chair, and Liam's shoulder slump. "But," she adds, eyebrow raised, "I could be _persuaded."_

Lydia rolls her eyes with a huff, and fishes in her purse for a bit, before forking over a stack of dollar bills that Liam tries very hard not to look at, because he doesn't want to know _how much_ this little question just cost her.

\---

"—and them _thighs_ , _mmmm."_ She takes another swig of the bottle, and hiccups louder. Liam shoots Scott an pointed look and Scott counters with an unimpressed one.

"Look," Scott mutters, "I know how much you want to find him, but that could _literally_ be anyone. Let's not jump to conclusions."

"He was a weird one though," the woman continues, pensive, even as she slurs her words.

"What do you mean?" Lydia asks, stepping forward.

She frowns, severe. "He came in with blood on his old clothes," she waves a hand in the air, gesturing sloppily, "and _left_ with blood on his _new clothes_. Blood on his sheets." She wrinkles her nose. "Blood everywhere."

"Okay," Scott concedes, "I _will_ admit that sounds . . . _characteristic._ But, it still could be—"

"I would'a thought he was here to dump a body or something, but I checked the dumpster out back, and all I found was this foot." She reaches for the floor underneath her desk and emerges with a severed foot, prompting disgusted noises from all of them, except Lydia, who takes another step forward and squints at it, calculating. "But that's pretty normal for 'round here."

"That's not his foot," Lydia confirms, after a quick examination, and Liam lets out a sigh of relief. Lydia's sharp eyes turn back on the woman, who now has her feet propped up on her desk. "Does he have something to do with why you're—" she waves her hand airily, gesturing vaguely at the bottle and cigarette stub on her desk, "inebriated?"

The woman giggles again, and it grates painfully on Liam's ears. "Oh, _honey_ ," she replies, eyes unfocused as they stare somewhere into the distance, "you wouldn't _believe_ me if I told you."

Lydia smiles, sharp and closed-mouth and condescending. "Try me," she says, " _sweetheart."_

The woman props her head up on her hand, before her head lolls to the side and falls from her grip, and she has to do it _again_ , chin resting on her palm. "He beat some men with my stapler in the parking lot," she says, and they all go very, very still, "and then he left, and some feds arrested them." She huffs. "I had to hide my stash. And my foot." She pokes at the big toe of the severed foot.

"Okay, _yeah_ ," Scott relents, wincing, "that. . . _does_ sound like—"

"Scott, I once saw him almost garrote a man with his _shoelace_ ," Lydia hisses. "Who _else_ could it be?"

The front door bursts open, all of a sudden, and Kira and Malia emerge, looking harried.

"Oh, _good,"_ Kira says, panting, "I was worried we got the wrong place again." She frowns. "Is that a foot?"

Argent breathes a long, tired sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Liam can sympathize.

\---

"But, like, the _same_ motel?" Scott shakes his head as they make their way up the stairs. "That has to be some kind of _crazy_ coincidence, like, what are the chances?" He turns to Lydia. "No, seriously. What are the chances?"

She rolls her eyes, but Liam's pretty sure she's calculating the statistics in her head. " _Slim_ ," she replies, a small smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. "Scott, what do we say about coincidences?"

Scott's brows furrow, but Liam remembers. Stiles, Theo, and Lydia repeat it more than Liam cares to listen, but still.

"The universe is rarely so lazy," Kira finishes, and Lydia's mouth twists into a full-blown smirk.

"I don't follow," Argent says slowly.

"Liam gave us the directions to get here," Lydia replies, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "He didn't look at the GPS _once_. Didn’t put an address in, didn’t glance at the map, nothing."

There's a moment of confused silence, before:

" _Coltsfoot,"_ Argent realizes.

"Internal healing," Lydia nods, " _and_ visions and divination."

"So, I-- what?" Liam asks, brow furrowed. " _Sensed_ him?"

Lydia grins. "Looks like that _connection_ is stronger than we thought it was."

Liam tries not to read into whatever Lydia's implying because it can't be anything good. Instead, he just huffs out a breath and keeps walking up the stairs.

\---

They don't have any more properly-cultivated Coltsfoot, so they can't just use Liam as some kind of Theo-detector. But mostly, everyone's too exhausted, tired from the comedown of being completely wired, half-filled with adrenaline for _hours_ , and they decide rest for a couple hours, and then regroup in the evening.

The room is okay for a motel. The sheets are surprisingly fresh, but Liam still finds an empty bottle of whiskey in the trash can and the entire place just kind of smells like anguish. There's only one bed, but Liam's rooming with Lydia, so it's fine; they're both the smallest, anyways. She curls up into a ball on the other side, and goes right to sleep, and Liam lays awake for a bit, mind racing, before the exhaustion finally claims him too.

\---

Several hours later, Liam wakes with a violent _jolt_ , and it takes him several seconds to register that his phone is ringing. He makes a blind grab for it, missing twice before he finally manages to grasp it in his hand, and stares blankly at the unknown number on his screen.

He almost declines it. Almost. But something stops him. Maybe it's the Coltsfoot, or maybe it's something deeper inside of Liam, something ingrained. Something in his bones.

"Hello?"

He hears a labored breath, and then another, and he _knows_ it might just be wishful thinking, Liam trying to manifest something out of sheer desperation, but:

"Theo?" he tries, and the breathing sounds stop, like whoever's on the other end has stopped breathing altogether, and Liam's heart is _racing_ in his chest, he almost can't breathe himself. Lydia's eyes are open and she's watching him carefully, eyes wide, before Liam leaps out of bed, tearing the door open, and sprinting into the hallway to Scott's room, barely registering Lydia's soft footsteps behind him as he pounds on the door, desperate, and Scott whips it open, looking _exhausted_ , him, Malia, Kira, and Argent apparently interrupted mid-conversation, but everything is just a blip on his radar, because all of Liam's attention is focuses on the small half-sob that he hears at the other end of the line, and Liam feels his pulse stutter, heart rate going so fast that he feels a little dizzy, a little unhinged.

" _Theo_ ," he manages, sounding desperate, even to his own ears, but the _breathing_ is familiar and the sob is familiar, and even the _silence_ is familiar; all sounds that Liam knows like the back of his hand, like the inside of his heart, "is that you?" He makes his way into the room and starts to pace.

" _Liam—"_ Theo chokes out, voice hoarse and unsteady, and Liam's heart _stops_ , right there in his chest, and twists and twists and _twists_ , winding tighter and tighter until it _hurts._ "I— " he says, sounding like he's working himself into a panic, and Liam wants to wrap him up in his arms, wants to cover Theo's entire body with his own, wants to keep him there forever and tell the whole world, _fuck off, you can't have this one, he's_ mine, and he _will_ one day, but Theo needs him _now_ , needs Liam to be _his_ Theo, to ground him. To _anchor_ him. "I— _Liam_ — _"_

" _Hey,"_ Liam cuts in, trying to pretend like he's not on the verge of a sob himself, because he can't break down right now, it's _Liam's_ turn to be steady, no matter how wrecked he feels, “baby, _shh_ , I’m _here,”_ he says, putting the back of his hand over his mouth, because if he leaves it open, uninhibited, he's _sure_ he's going to cry straight into the phone, pour his entire soul out, verbalize every wave of desperation that has crashed through him ever since Theo was taken, say something stupid _(honest_ , but stupid nonetheless), “ _I’m here,_ you’re _okay.”_ There's a long, pained-sounding inhale, and while it's reassuring that he's still _breathing_ , it doesn't exactly sound like the epitome of health, and Liam can't help the panic that rises up in him, sharp and quick, as scenario after scenario flashes before his eyes, all of them worst than the last, and he manages a desperate, “you _are_ okay, right _? Theo?_ Where _are_ you? We— _”_

Everything after that happens too quickly. A voice in the background telling him to hurry up, a tension in Theo's voice that he doesn't like. Calgary. Stiles. Supernatural prison. The words ring in his head, bouncing around like pinballs, but he can't make sense out of any of them, mind racing almost as fast as his heart.

"I could really use some backup," Theo says, and Liam doesn't understand the tone he says it in, like he's going to try and _convince_ Liam to do something, like he's going to have to plead and persuade, and Liam thinks faintly, _I would do anything for you, you have to know that,_ thinks, _you have to know that by now, you can't_ not, and then Theo's saying _another_ goodbye, the _second_ one Liam's getting in forty-eight hours, and now _Liam's_ panicking, because it feels like he just _got_ Theo and now he's slipping out of his fingers. “I— _what?"_ Liam says, and his fingers scrabble uselessly on the cellphone, like maintaining a white-knuckled grip on it is going to keep Theo where he can hear him, keep his voice and his heartbeat in Liam's ear where he can keep him _safe,_ and he manages an _painfully_ futile, "Baby, _wait_ —"

“We’re _here_ now, I’m going in,” Theo says, sounding hurried, _distracted_. “ _Love you._ ”

The line goes dead, but Liam remains standing there, stock-still, heart in his throat, stuttering and skipping, and suddenly, he's _furious,_ gripping his phone so tight that it crumples, just a little, in his hands.

" _Why,"_ Liam grits out, teeth clenched so tight that it feels like his _jaw_ is going to pop straight out of his _head,_ "does he _never_ give me enough _time_ to _say it back?"_

The aluminum in his hands creaks pitifully.

"Um," Scott says, and that's when Liam's tunnel vision is replaced by waves of newfound situational awareness , and he realizes that there _are,_ in fact, other people in this room. Scott's eyebrows are inching towards his hairline. "Is there something you want to tell us, maybe?" He crosses his arms. "Something important?"

Liam frowns, confused.

" _Baby?"_ Lydia asks, the corner of her mouth flickering up, and Liam's even _more_ confused than before. There's an awkward bout of silence for a bit, in which Liam is trying to figure out _what_ exactly this conversation is about, unable to shake the feeling that he's been dropped into a foreign film with no subtitles.

"Uh," he finally says, after the silence has gone on for a little too long, "listen, Lydia, you're really pretty and smart and everything, but I _really_ see you as more of an _older sister_ -type-- "

" _No,_ dipshit _,"_ Malia snaps, allowing Lydia's expression relax back into it's passive amusement where it was getting more and more pinched throughout Liam's monologue, "you just called _Theo_ 'baby'."

Liam chokes on his spit, almost falls over. " _No, I didn't,"_ Liam wheezes, but Lydia's still smiling like _that_ and Scott's giving him a _look_. " _Oh my god,"_ Liam says, feeling so faint that he has to sit down on the bed, "to his _face?"_

"I mean," Kira says, looking sympathetic, "to his ear. But. Yeah."

" _Did I?"_ Liam asks, half-hysterical, raking his hands through his hair, because _god, that's embarassing_ , it's one thing to do it in his _head_ \-- he's come to terms with that over the last couple of months -- but to his _face?_ It just slipped out, a _reflex_ , the same one that wants to wrap Theo in his clothes, in his _scent_ , wants to put his hands on Theo's hips and nose along the line of Theo's neck, brush his hair out of his eyes and feel the peak of his cheekbone underneath his fingers, and _god,_ 'baby' is _humiliating_ , but it _fits,_ like a puzzle piece slotting into place.

 _Theo,_ Liam thinks faintly, _baby, what are you_ doing _to me?_

"You did," Argent confirms curtly, looking and sounding _incredibly_ pained, like maybe he regrets all his life decisions, especially the ones where he decided to be the non-murderous type of werewolf-hunter, and that seals the deal, Liam slumping down into the bed and letting out a sound like he's dying, all the blood rushing to his head and making the room spin. "Now," Argent prompts, ignoring Liam's body slowly slipping off the bed, like he is often prone to do. " _Calgary_?"

\------

Theo wakes up to _Stiles_ of all people, clawing frantically at his shirt, trying to tear the material apart. At least he's _pretty sure_ that it's Stiles, but he can't be one-hundred-percent certain, because his vision is blurred in a way that he's learned spells trouble.

" _What're y'doing?_ " he tries to ask, but it comes out painfully slurred, and Stiles eyes _whip_ to his own, looking _incredibly_ panicked.

"Oh, _good_ , you're awake," he breathes, not stilling his hands in their endeavor as they _finally_ manage to start tearing though Theo's tattered, bloodstained shirt. The holes in the chest probably help, Theo's accidental nightmare-induced gouge marks, but they make Stiles frown.

"Why are there so many _holes_ in your shirt?" he asks, disgruntled, muttered low enough that Theo's certain he's talking to himself, but that doesn't stop the laugh from bubbling up in Theo's throat.

Stiles gives him a _very_ strange look. " _Great,"_ he sighs, "now your symptoms include hysteria. Awesome."

He finally gets the shirt all the way open, and Theo thinks, _I can do it myself_ , but when he moves to help, he finds himself restrained. On _another_ propped up examination table, because apparently, he _just can’t catch a fucking break. What a mess_ , Theo thinks with a loud, outward groan.

"Are those _staples_ in your chest?" Stiles asks, sounding alarmingly faint. "Oh, _god_ ," he breathes, placing a bracing hand over his mouth, "I think I'm gonna be _sick_."

Another hald-hysterical giggle bubbles out of Theo's throat, uninhibited. "I had a shit week," he manages, through a painfully dry throat.

"Right," Stiles says absently, appearing to brace himself. "Right, right, okay. Okay, this is fine, we can fix this, right?"

Theo hums in agreement, not even _knowing_ what he's agreeing with, but his vision starts to go _even_ blurrier, and he feels his head drop forward, lolling.

" _Don't you pass out on me,"_ Stiles hisses, suddenly sounding _terrified_ , "don't you _dare_ pass out on me, Raeken." He grips Theo by the back of his hair, forces his head up. "They injected you with _mercury_. The Dread Doctors used to use that a lot, right? You _should_ know how to fix that." He pauses, chewing his lip, while Theo's vision goes even _blurrier,_ and Theo hums in agreement.

"S'fine," he replies, blinking blearily. "There's too much in m'bloodstream r'now. Let it m'tabolize. Then I'll wake up, 'nd we'll need t'do s'mthing ab't m'liver." His vision comes into sharp focus, just for a second, and then goes blurry again. "How'd I get landed 'n th' same cell as you, 'nyways?" Theo snickers. "S'a _weird_ coincidence."

"What do we _say_ about coincidences?" Stiles snaps, raking a hand through his hair. "I have _friends_ in here, kind of high up. That's how I got you put in the same cell. They'll be by later, and we'll . . . Fix you, or something."

Theo hums again, and his vision starts to go dark at the edges.

"You're _sure_ this'll work?" Stiles asks, frantic. "I won't end up sharing a cell with a poisoned corpse, right? Because that would _suck._ Bodies smell."

The joke doesn't hide the fact that Stiles's voice cracks on every other word, but Theo still appreciates it, managing a dry huff that takes the last of his energy.

"D'n't worry," Theo replies, "I know _so_ much ab't biology. _Sooo_ much. Watch." He blinks, furrowing his brows.

"Mitochondria," Theo recites, very seriously, and then he passes out again.

\------

_One_ of his friends is able to swing by a little early, since she has an earlier guard shift, but she can't be of much help, since Theo's knocked out and Stiles doesn't know what the _fuck_ he's supposed to be doing, besides trying to work out what Theo's incomprehensible sleep-mutters might be.

"What's he _saying?"_ she asks, and Stiles shakes his head.

" _No_ idea," he replies. "It sounds like Russian, but all I know in Russian is my sandwich order."

She steps in closer, puts her ear right by Theo's mouth, and waits for a bit. It doesn't take long for them both to hear another mumble.

She steps away, half her mouth curled up into some kind of pleasantly surprised smile. "He said," she explains, " _'between the fourth and fifth ribs.'_ "

Stiles frowns. "The fuck is _that_ supposed to me?"

She winks, grinning harder. "Quickest way to a man's heart." And then adds, solemnly, but no more playful for it, "Trust me, _I would know."_

Theo mumbles something else, and Stiles hears a familiar choked-off giggle, one that's gotten rarer and rarer these last couple years, the one where Stiles said, _I think I found something in the bestiary,_ and she let it loose, with an innocent, amused, _I think you mean--_

" _Now_ what?" Stiles asks.

"He just called you a train-station whore," she replies dutifully,

Stiles frowns harder, jaw set, mulish. "How do you know he was talking about _me?"_

She crosses her arms across her chest, brow raised. "He said your _name_.

Stiles rolls his eyes _all_ the way to the back of his head.

"Just," Stiles says, with a long, tired sigh, "go finish your rounds."

\------

Theo wakes up again, and his head is _pounding_ and his mouth tastes like _ass,_ but at least he _woke up_ , which he wasn't completely certain he would.

This time, his vision is clearer, and he spots Stiles sitting against the wall, shooting up to stand when he sees that Theo's eyes are open. He looks kind of filthy and pale, dirt and grime coating his hands and face, and probably a little too thin, the hollows of his cheeks more pronounced, but mostly, he looks okay; no visible injuries that Theo can see, and he lets out a sigh of relief.

The most concerning thing is that his fingertips are looking a little blue, but that's something they can fix easily. Hopefully.

"Oh, thank _god,"_ Stiles breathes, scrubbing his hands across his face. "Thought you might've been bluffing there for a second."

 _I was_ , Theo doesn't say. _I'm not_ actually _one-hundred-percent sure I_ can _die,_ he thinks, but he doesn't say _that_ either, mostly because it would prompt a lot of questions that Theo doesn't really want to answer, but also because he _really_ isn't trying to tempt fate.

"Okay," Stiles says, squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw. "Okay, we have a bunch of things here, but I don't know what to do with them, so you're gonna have to talk me through it, or something." He walks over to the cart stationed conveniently next to Theo, and only _then_ does Theo take in his surroundings.

The cell itself is nicer than he expected; clearly this was a fairly high-security prison before Monroe and her people staged some kind of demented Siege of the Bastille. There are walls instead of bars, and the door is thick and solid, only a small rectangle of glass where light from the corridor filters in. There's a window too, high above where they could conceivably reach, through which a fairly generous amount of light filters through, which is going to be _very_ helpful for what they're about to do, but overall, the cell is still pretty cold and dark and damp, bereft except for the cart next to him, and a slightly alarming stack of bowls piled up in the corner.

The cart next to Theo is filled with empty test tubes and some metal sampling tools, which is _alarming_ , but nowhere nearly as bad as Monroe's psychotic homemade surgical set.

"They just left these _out_?" Theo asks, incredulous. Stiles quirks a small smile.

"They think the both of us are handcuffed," he replies, gesturing behind him where, indeed, a small pair of handcuffs is hanging open where it was attached to the wall, so thin that it's almost _offensive_ , so thin that Theo didn't even _see them_.

"And they don't _uncuff_ you for meals, or anything?" Theo continues, eyebrows inching towards his hairline as he tries not to be _impressed_ with how little damage Stiles sustained from escaping them. "They don't notice _then?"_

Stiles's smile turns sharp, cutting. "All our food is served in doggy bowls," he says, a hint of something dark in his voice, something Theo would have been _dying_ to bring out of him back when he was desperate for protection and desperate for _pack._ "Don't need hands to eat out of those." Stiles's head tilts up to meet Theo's eyes, and his eyes _widen,_ the room suddenly _filled_ with the scent of panic, and he shakes himself, just a little, the expression from before falling off his face easily. "Anyways," he says, sounding frantic, "we should probably get that mercury out of you. Like, now. Since it's coming out of your _nose_. That's bad, right?" He marches closer to Theo, hands flailing, just a little bit. " _Right?"_

"It's not great," Theo admits, which is such an understatement it's not even funny.

Mercury dripping from the nose means _failure_ and _condition terminal._ Mercury was once their favorite kill-switch for the chimeras; quick and simple, if messy. Theo finally escaped the Doctors after all these years, and maybe it's some kind of poetic justice that he might now die of mercury poisoning, after all these years, and maybe it should make him sardonic or remorseful, but mostly, it just makes Theo _mad_.

He didn't live _this fucking long_ , beaten half-dead and coming back to life, like a fucking _cockroach_ , shot and stabbed and sliced right open, held and tortured and _literally_ sent to hell that one time, just to die like _this._ Theo would rather die of goddamn _dysentery_ than _mercury poisoning._

But Theo only has around fifteen minutes to get the last of the mercury out of his body, before it starts to shut down.

"We need to work fast," Theo says, trying to keep his tone light.

"Okay," Stiles says, nodding, raking his hand through his hair once, nervously, before squaring his shoulders, settled. He can formulate a plan, mind still a little poison-sluggish, but working on overtime.

"Our biggest problem right now is that we don't have anything we can use as a scalpel," Theo says, trying to ignore the taste of blood and mercury that's making itself very present in the back of his throat.

"A _scalpel?"_ Stiles asks, sounding more than a little nauseous. "What are you going to _do_ with it?"

"Okay," Theo says, shutting his eyes for just a second, to come to a decision, and when his eyes open up again, his mind is made up. "Okay," he repeats, praying that he's not about to spend the last fifteen minutes of his life in a hunter-run jail cell in _Calgary_ of all places, with _Stiles_ of all people, being slowly poisoned to death.

Stiles takes direction fairly well for someone who's so snarky on the time. Maybe because he can tell that they're on the clock from the increasingly shaky timbre of Theo's voice, or maybe he's just more settled nowadays, but he listens to Theo's instructions well.

They need something to cut Theo open with that won't cause some kind of horrid infection. It takes a couple seconds of brainstorming, but Theo knows what they have to do. Maybe if he didn't have mercury trying to leak out of his body, he would just be able to break both his hands, escape from the thick shackles on his wrists, and cut himself open with his claws, but all the poison in his body is messing with his ability to shift, and it takes nearly _everything_ he has to just extend _a singular_ claw, before driving his thumb underneath the nailbed _viciously_ until he hears a wet sucking noise, and the claw pops out, falling onto the floor with a quiet clatter.

 _"Christ,"_ Stiles breathes, looking on with a morbid kind of fascination.

There's absolutely _nothing_ in their cell, besides what's on the cart. Theo scans the contents quickly, before telling Stiles, speculative, " _curette",_ and Stiles pulls the long, thin metal rod from where it was resting against a line of empty test tubes.

A sharp claw attached to the end of a curette would make for a functional scalpel, but the problem is binding them together well enough that the claw won't unstick and get lost somewhere in Theo's body. Theo has an idea, but it's _crystals_ , just because he's had such an exorbitant amount of practice with them in the last couple months.

He proposes it out loud and Stiles groans.

"You've been spending _way_ too much time with Lydia," he says, scrubbing a hand across the underside of his jaw, and only succeeding in smearing more grime across his skin. Privately, Theo agrees. Lydia fucking _loves_ crystals, for reasons beyond Theo's comprehension. But if he can get a solid enough crystallization going between the claw and curette to bind them together, it should be able to cut fairly precisely, and that's really all Theo can ask for.

Potassium ferricyanide would crystallize spontaneously enough for them to use it before Theo dies, so it's what he decides to go with. It's main compound, potassium _ferrocyanide_ is prepared by heating a nitrogen source with iron and carbon.

"Potassium nitrate makes up most of gunpowder," Theo says, feeling a little desperate. "You got a firearm, by any chance?"

Stiles slants him an unimpressed look. "If I had a goddamn _firearm,_ " he says, clearly annoyed, "do you _think_ I would _still_ be in here?"

It's a fair point, and one that Theo concedes. "Fine," Theo sighs. "I got shot at a _lot_ since I showered last. So, we'll just have to make do with the residue, I guess."

Stiles helps strip the rest of Theo's shirt off efficiently. "I had a dream like this once," Stiles says, tone light and playful, "back when I hated you."

"I _know_ , genius," Theo replies, laughing, even though it results in a fine spray of silver across the cell floor, "I could _smell_ it on you. Why do you think I tried pushing all your buttons so hard?"

Stiles stills where he was scraping residue off of Theo's shoulder. He narrows his eyes suspiciously,. "Were you trying to _seduce_ me in that car? When we were supposed to be watching the clinic?" Theo doesn't reply, just snickers, for the way he knows it'll wind Stiles up. " _I knew it,"_ Stiles hisses, "I fucking _knew it."_ He stomps his foot, childish, brows furrowed and arms crossed. "No one _believes_ me," he grits. "When I told Lydia, she fucking _laughed_ at me."

Theo raises one insolent brow in response, Stiles lets out a fussy huff, and then he's back to dutiful scraping. Before long, Stiles has enough gunpowder residue scraped off Theo's body to make a fairly impressive smear of paste on the floor.

 _Iron,_ Theo thinks, considering, before prompting, "Give me the claw back."

Stiles wordlessly place it into Theo's palm, eyes a little curious, but he makes a pained, strangled-sounding noise when Theo pierces it through his hand, until the tip is poking out on the other side. Blood pools onto the floor, and they're both quiet, watching dark rivulets stream steadily down his palm, before Theo finally deems it enough, waves his bloody hand dismissively, a wordless _go ahead._

Thankfully, Stiles seems to get it, mixing them in together until they're blended. "Carbon, you said?" he asks, brows raised. "So, we. . . What? Burn something?"

Theo raises a brow of his own. "You got anything flammable in here?

"I . . . "he trails off, brows furrowing, before his head whips around to the corner of the room, to the stack of bowls. "I _might_."

Theo watches curiously as Stiles shoves the stack to the side, an unholy screeching noise echoing throughout the cell as metal _drags_ on concrete, before the corner is thrown into stark relief by the light from the window, west-facing, so the evening light shines almost _directly_ onto them which is good, which is _lucky_ , which is _important,_ because they're going to need it. In the corner, lays a small pile of what Theo presumes to be Cheetos.

Not a pile of _bags_ or anything like that. No, just a pile of sad, lonesome, violently-orange finger-shaped snacks. Theo counts twelve Cheetos total, but his vision also isn't the best right now, since he only has about ten minutes left to live. Whatever, nobody's perfect.

Stiles scoops the Cheetos into his hands gently, cradling them like they're _precious._ Theo's pretty sure one of them is growing a kind of mold culture that _he_ can't even identify, which is _extremely alarming_ , considering he spent a good of his life in sewers and damp, disease-ridden alleyways. Theo knows more strains of mold than modern science, probably. But whatever's growing on that thick, center Cheeto _has_ to be something supernatural. Theo's pretty sure he sees a _tooth_ on it as Stiles moves closer, but that could just be Theo's body shutting down. One would think by now he would be able to tell the difference, but alas.

"That's _disgusting,"_ Theo says, wrinkling his nose as Stiles places the Cheetos on the floor next to the bloody potassium nitrate concoction, but Stiles's head _whips_ to his, eyes narrowing judgmentally.

" _You_ have absolutely no leg to stand on," Stiles retorts. "You eat rabbits _raw_ whenever you and Malia full-shift, so feel free to shut the fuck up."

" _Coyotes_ eat rabbits," Theo counters, unimpressed, eyeing the daunting center Cheeto. "I don't think _anybody_ would survive eating _that."_

"Yeah, well," Stiles replies, jaw mulish, "our diets in high school were _really_ not the best." He winces. "Let's just say it was a lot worse than prison Cheetos."

Theo has had the rare and unique pleasure of _literally_ biting someone's fingers clean off their hand, way back in the day, and even _he_ can't imagine anything worse than actually _eating_ the monstrosities that Stiles is trying to prop up against each other, messing with them until the demonic orange fingers form some kind of demented fire pit.

"Sun," Theo prompts, nodding toward the evening light streaming in, and Stiles picks up the thread of his thought _immediately._

"Glass," Stiles finishes, nodding as he grabs one of the empty glass test tubes off the card and holds it up to the light, directing a beam through the convex glass, like a magnifying glass burning an ant on the sidewalk, concentrating the light until it finally coalesces into a single, burning point, that successfully ignites the Cheeto fire pit. Theo _knew_ in his head that Cheetos were completely made of hydrocarbons, but even _he's_ impressed at the speed at which it burns up.

Within seconds, there's nothing remaining but a suspicious looking scorch-mark on the floor, and a small pile of ash, that Stiles quickly mashes into the mixture. He picks up the beaker again, concentrates another beam of light into the final mixture, and before long, they have semi-reliable potassium ferrocyanide.

"Okay," Theo says, voice _much_ shakier than he remembers it being, cracking on the second syllable, "for it to crystallize, it needs to be dissolved in warm water, covered, and then cooled."

"Got it," Stiles says, mutters to himself, " _warm water, warm water, warm water,"_ before his head whips back to the corner of the stacked bowls, and he carefully plucks the highest one off the top of the stack. Theo can hear the sloshing of water.

Theo winces. "How _clean_ is that water?"

Stiles sighs. "Definitely _not_ clean enough for me to be doing this," he says, apropos of absolutely _nothing_ , before he _tips_ the contents of the doggy bowl into his mouth, swirling it around for about a minute, before spitting it back in. "There," he grumbles, " _warm._ God, Raeken, you owe me _so_ much for this shit, I swear to God. I'm gonna make you buy me lunch, like, every time I'm back in town." For all his bitching, he's gentle when he pries the claw out of Theo's palm, and presses it to the curette, holding it in the warm water and covering the water bowl with the remnants of Theo's shirt.

"Hey, _asshole,"_ Theo snaps, and his _entire_ mouth tastes like mercury, which _definitely_ isn't good, he _definitely_ doesn't have more than five minutes left, "I came in here to _break you out._ If anything, you owe _me."_

 _"Break me out?"_ Stiles asks, voice skipping to the next octave above, half-hysterical. "And _how_ , exactly, is that working out for you?"

Theo laughs, only slightly bitter. "About as well as everything else," Theo says, and he doesn't clarify that he doesn't mean just this _week_ , just this _month,_ just this _year._ He means from the second he exited the womb, and took up more space than he was worth. There's a brief silence, in the last couple minutes of Theo's life while they wait for their makeshift-scalpel to be done, and Theo can't _stand it_ , he's been quiet for too long, for _so long_ , he's _not_ about to die during an awkward silence. "So," Theo says, pushing past his discomfort and the chemical coating his tongue, " _mercury_. That's an interesting choice. They use that on all the new inmates?"

Stiles shakes his head, but doesn't look up from the bowl. "They've got all sorts in here," Stiles replies, the skin around his eyes tightening, and he smells _furious._ "Like some kind of goddamn _zoo,"_ he spits, "one of every kind. I think they're _desperate_. The throw-things-at-the-wall-and-see-what-sticks kind of desperate. They're trying to find out everyone's specific weakness, trying to develop these _sick, fucking,"_ he huffs, a deep, angry breath that's so nearly a _growl_ that it takes Theo aback, "these _horrible_ genetically-modified herbs, wolfsbane and vervain and _god,"_ he shakes his head. "They had a werebear a couple doors down, but they upped the dosage of the bearberry too high and killed him. He was literally replaced in _two hours."_

"So," Theo says, tongue feeling too thick in his mouth as his mind whirs and whirs and whirs, "this isn't really a prison."

Stiles scoffs. "The pack who owns this territory don't exactly take prisoners," he says, something dark lurking at the edges of his tone. "I'd say this is more of a _lab_ than an actual prison. One of each species, usually just to test their compounds on them. Sometimes they try to grill us for information." He shrugs, one-shouldered. "That's mostly why I'm here."

"They _took_ you for information," Theo says skeptically, because Stiles might not be a supernatural, but he should've been able to hold his own against a group of armed humans. That _is_ where his training lies, after all.

" _Okay_ ," Stiles relents, with a strain in his voice like it physically _pains_ him to do so, "so I _might_ have come here on purpose. _But,"_ he interrupts, when Theo makes a triumphant noise, " _Stop that! But,"_ he repeats, "in my defense, I heard some familiar names, and I really _did_ think it was more of a prison, so," he sighs, "I thought I'd be able to break out." He takes the fabric off the water bowl, and peers inside. "Oh, shit!" he says, a smile breaking out across his face. "It actually _worked_ ," he says, pulling out the curette, the bloody claw attached to the end of it. The blood reacted with the potassium ferrocyanide to turn blue, like Theo knew it would, and the crystals binding the two pieces together are a brilliant, deep red.

Stiles wipes his hands on his pants, and then approaches Theo with the makeshift scalpel tentatively. "Alright," Stiles says, reluctance visible in every line of his body, and Theo can almost _taste_ the dread, or he _would_ be able to, if he hadn't just lost his sense of taste a couple minutes ago. "What now?"

"We're gonna have to remove part of my liver," Theo says, trying to keep his voice even and unaffected. "Or, you know. _You're_ gonna have to." He shifts his hands in the thick shackles connected to the examination table noisily, demonstrative.

"I'm gonna have to _what?"_ Stiles _screeches_. "No, no, _no,"_ he manages, shaking his head vigorously from side to side. "You want me to say it in French? _Non."_ Stiles paces, but he can't seem to decide which direction he wants to walk in, and the result is both of his legs moving in difference ones, while he continues to panic.

" _Stop_ ," Theo snaps, feeling _extremely_ tired. "I don't," he tries, before something gets stuck in his throat, and he has to hack a glob of blood and phlegm and mercury out. When he speaks, his voice is _painfully_ hoarse. "I don't have much _time._ Just _do it._ Please."

Stiles looks vaguely nauseous as he eyes Theo's mangled torso up, shoots him a scrutinizing look as he tears one of the staples out of his body and pulls the flaps of skin apart. His hands are _shaking_ , and Theo is _filled_ with an anticipatory kind of dread.

"Don't make fun of me," Stiles says, reluctant, "but which part is the liver?"

"The part that looks like it's _rotting_ ," Theo grits out, through a mouthful of clenched teeth. "The _silver_ part."

"Oh," Stiles says. A brief pause. "Yeah, that makes sense."

Theo feels Stiles make a long incision, deep inside, and watches carefully. The cut is neat and precise, the curette, claw, and crystals holding up admirably, but Stiles's hands are shaking almost _violently._

"If it makes you _feel_ any better," Theo says, trying to keep his heart rate steady enough not to bleed out on the table, "the liver is _regenerative_. I'll be _fine."_

"I'm not _scared_ ," Stiles hisses, but both of them can hear the lie, even without his heart skipping a beat. But there's at least some grain of truth in it, because, Theo realizes, nerves aren't the reason that his hands are shaking. The tips of his fingers are _much_ bluer up close. The term _mildly hypothermic_ probably applies. Theo doesn’t know how Stiles has enough _feeling_ in his fingertips to even be able to _grip_ the scalpel.

"Your _friends_ could bring you _Cheetos_ , but they couldn’t bring you _gloves?"_ Theo asks, incredulous.

"They're supposed to bring some _tonight,"_ Stiles replies distractedly, a concentrated line between his eyebrows. "It wasn't this bad the entire time. Cold front came in last night and made it a _lot_ worse."

"We're in _Calgary,"_ Theo huffs. "Pretty sure _every_ front is a cold front. You got a plan to get out?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, "kind of, but it's going to take a couple days. They'll be here in the evening at the beginning of their rotation, and we're supposed to finalize some of the details."

That's when everything goes to shit.

The tremor in Stiles's hands make them shake just a _little_ too hard, and the claw at the end of the curette slices through something it's not supposed to, and all of a sudden, blood starts _spurting_ , _covering_ Stiles's front.

"An artery," Stiles says numbly, blood draining out of his face even quicker than the blood's draining from Theo's body, "Theo, I _nicked an artery,"_ Stiles hisses, eyes wide and panicked, "fuck, _fuck,"_ he swears, hands trembling even _harder, "fuck, fuck, fuck,_ what do I _do?"_

"Hold it _shut,"_ Theo manages, trying to slow his heart down as much as possible, because if he can get it down, he can control the speed at which he's bleeding out. "It's _fine,"_ he reassures, "it's _fine,_ just hold it closed. Both hands."

Stiles makes a strangled noise, placing the scalpel between Theo's teeth, and Theo bites down obediently, holding it in his mouth, before Stiles _buries_ his hands inside Theo's body, clamping down _hard,_ and Theo gives himself one, two, three seconds to make a decision, before he makes his mind up, thinks, _you only need two fingers to hold a scalpel,_ thinks, _showtime, Raeken._

"Hey, if I pass out, do me a favor," Theo says, _pass out_ being a _very_ generous euphemism. "Slit my throat before the mercury takes over. I am _not_ dying of mercury poisoning." He says it lightly, something that could be misconstrued as a joke, even though he's _dead serious._ Stiles shoots him a look that says, very clearly, _shut the fuck up._

Stiles laughs, shaky. "Yeah, fat fucking chance," he manages. "If you don't make it out of here alive, the _second_ I step out, the angriest beta werewolf in the entire Western United States is going to have his _hands_ wrapped around my neck, so. Absolutely not."

The shackles are _tight_ around his wrist, and he has to break his last three fingers, snapping the bones quickly and efficiently, before he can tuck them underneath his thumb and gingerly maneuver his hand out of the thick cuff.

Stiles stares at him, staunchly avoiding looking into Theo's exposed torso. "Awesome," he says, sounding faint, "you . . . Broke your entire hand. That's great." He laughs, half-hysterical, but Theo doesn't have the time to acknowledge it, pulling the scalpel from between his teeth and cutting the rotting, silvery portion out, trying not to think, _millions of dollars down the drain,_ as he does it, maneuvering the sharp tip carefully around Stiles's spasming fingers -- while Stiles mutters things to himself that Theo only catches brief, hysterical snippets of, like, _cool, cool, cool, just cutting your own liver out of your body, cool, this is fine, this isn't crazy at all, nope, not psychotic, this is perfectly normal_ , god, _you need so much therapy_ , I _need so much therapy, we_ all _need_ \-- before he finally makes it to the end of the organ, and the silvery cut of muscle sluices off the remaining tissue, falling to the floor with a slimy noise. Stiles makes a retching noise.

"Oh, god," Stiles breathes, looking even greener than before. "That's your liver. On the floor." He screws his mouth up, lips disappearing into a thin, thin line, pressed white, bloodless. "I'm gonna throw up," he rasps. Theo ignores him, too caught up in the sensation of finally being able to fucking _breathe._

He drags in a couple ragged breaths, while Stiles does the same, except more frantic. Theo thinks it might be some variation of Lamaze breathing.

"You sound like you're going into labor," Theo says, brow raised. "You good?"

" _No,"_ Stiles hisses, through a shaky inhale, "no, I'm not fucking _good,_ what the _fuck_? You just cut," he wheezes, "an _organ_ out of your own _body."_ His eyes flick down involuntarily to Theo's split-open body, and he goes even _greener._

" _Relax,"_ Theo assures, trying to make his tone as calming as possible, because if Stiles is sick in their cell, they're going to be smelling it for _however_ long it takes, "I've had a lot of practice," he says, "and everything should be fine, now that it's out. We just need to get this mess stitched up."

Stiles breaks the needles off of one of the injections lying at the bottom of the cart, and pulls threads from Theo's tattered, bloody shirt on the floor, while Theo tries bending the end of the needle into a functional loop. When Stiles finally procures a string long enough, and Theo gets the loop twisted securely, Stiles threads the string through the needle, and then intently looks away while Theo sews himself back up, apparently fine with cutting into Theo's liver, but still fucking _terrified_ of needles. He's a weird kid like that. Also, his hands are still shaking, still alarmingly blue at the fingertips, and that's something they probably need to fix, and _soon._

"We need to get your hands warm," he says, and Stiles quirks a brow.

"What'd you have in mind?"

There's a very big, very warm pool of blood on the floor. Theo points it out, and Stiles looks at him like he's grown a second _head._

"That's _horrible,"_ he hisses, scandalized, and Theo just rolls his eyes.

"Do you _want_ your goddamn _fingers_ to fall off? It's either _that,_ " he waves at the stain on the floor, "or _piss._ I'm not healthy enough right now to warm you up, and your _friends_ aren't coming by until _later,_ so. Your choice."

Stiles sits, plopping down ungracefully, and, with _extreme_ reluctance, dips his hand in the dark puddle. He laughs, wobbly.

"Damn," Stile says. " _Literal_ blood on my hands." He laughs, half-hysterical, and Theo eyes him, concerned. "Caught," he says, " _red-handed!"_ He starts laughing even _harder_ , and Theo lets out a small huff, focusing back on the sutures he's trying to make through his organs, and then on his torso.

Theo finishes the neat stitch, tying it off quickly and efficiently, and then finally lets himself relax, slumping against the table, unclenching his would-tight muscles, and allowing his heart rate to return back to normal.

Stiles is sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them. For all that it's a fairly well-protected position, if a fairly defensive one, he look oddly vulnerable.

Theo enjoys the silence for a couple minutes, the _first_ couple seconds of fucking _peace_ since he left Spencer's car.

But, Stiles Stilinski is nothing if not predictable, and seems to hate the silence almost as much as he used to hate Theo.

"So," Stiles blurts out, _way_ too loud for the quiet cell, echoing around the walls and grating on Theo's eardrums in a way that makes him wince inwardly. "Are we just _not_ going to talk about it?"

The look on his face is unreadable, but there's something strange in his tone, something off-kilter.

"Talk about what?" Theo replies, tone impressively even, _considering_. It's an escape. An out. One that both of them should take, because Theo definitely does _not_ want to talk about it, and something about the way Stiles smells gives him a gut-tugging kind of instinct that Stiles _really_ doesn't want to listen, and strangely, it's not _indifference._ It's the complete _opposite_ of indifference, actually. Stiles smells like he would rather stick his arm in a garbage disposal, than listen to whatever Theo has to say, and it's not that he doesn't _care_ , it's that he _intently doesn't_ want to know.

If Theo was hoping that Stiles would take the easy way out, he was sorely disappointed. Luckily, Theo isn't an idiot, and he _knows_ that Stiles has never taken the easy way out in his _life._ It's only solidified by the unimpressed, if still fairly nauseous, look that he shoots Theo's way.

"Okay," Stiles says slowly, drawing out each syllable with the _maximum_ amount of skepticism possible. "How about how you showed up to the prison that I was being held at, with absolutely no back up? How about how you were covered in gunpowder residue, how the entire _front_ of your _body_ was _fucking split open_ , held together with fucking _staples,_ even before you got here? Why _did_ your shirt have _that_ much blood on it?" Stiles's eyes narrow, considering, and Theo feels pinned under his gaze, strapped down to the table once again to be picked apart and examined. "I _know_ that they didn't do anything to you on your way here besides the mercury."

Theo doesn't answer for a bit, hoping that Stiles will let it go. Stiles does _not_ let it go. He, instead, starts some kind of bizarre stare-down contest that Theo does _not_ have the energy to participate in.

"Like I said," Theo finally answers, tone carefully devoid of all the bewilderment he's feeling, "I had a shit week."

"You want to elaborate on that?" Stiles asks, sounding _concerned_ , and Theo _can't,_ he can't fucking deal.

"Not _particularly_ ," Theo grits out, tone acerbic, but Stiles _still_ won't let up, and Theo huffs out a long, tired breath. "Not much to say," he relents. "Monroe took me a couple days ago, because she thought I was someone else." He laughs, bitter. "She was disappointed, when she found out it was just me, and she didn't have her precious _bait._ " He waves carelessly to the mess of his torso. "This is how she retaliated."

Stiles frowns. " _'Didn't have her precious_ bait _'_ ," he echoes, like he's picking the words apart in ways that Theo would really rather he _not._ "I don't follow. What do you mean by that?"

There's no escaping it, no way to beat around the bush, no way to escape the _humiliating_ truth, which isn't that he was alone, with no one at his back -- that's old news -- but more so that he _expected_ something different. Naïve, like a child. Like a stupid nine-year-old who believed the people who said they would make him better, make him less of a waste, like a stupid ten-year old who thought he had a place amongst the _good-hearted_ , like a stupid fifteen-year-old who believed that he had a family, like the stupid seventeen-year-old who thought he could be clever enough to steal someone _else's._

Theo's nineteen now, almost. He doesn't have space in his life for stupidity, and even less for naivete, and he's all out of excuses.

"It means," Theo says, completely and perfectly neutral, cool as a Russian winter, so controlled that Wurudlac would be proud, "that she was expecting someone who could _draw the others in_. Once she found out who I _was, why_ it wasn't _working_ , she got _pissed."_

He doesn’t say it, he's too embarassed. He doesn't say, _nobody came for me_ , he doesn't say, _I'm not really one of you, and, apparently, everyone knows it._ He doesn't say, _they knew, they all knew._ He doesn't say it, but Stiles is smart enough to hear it, to work it out on his own. Theo _knew_ there was a reason he liked him.

There's a beat of shocked, stock-still silence, while the scent in the room thickens.

"That's not possible," Stiles breathes, voice raspy, quiet, _shocked_ in a way that Theo, frankly, just _doesn't understand._

"Yeah, well," Theo manages, feeling awkward, abruptly. "It's fine. I got out."

Stiles doesn't even appear to hear him. "No," he says, "that's not _possible_. Are you _kidding_? The _last time_ they thought you were gone, the goddamn _puppy pack_ called me. _Me_. _At the F.B.I_. Trying to get me to use federally-funded resources, ones that I don't even have _access to,_ to _find you_. Just because you went to Tijuana on a mission with _Argent_ , and didn't _tell anyone_. There's no fucking _way--_ "

" _Stiles,"_ he snaps, suddenly _incredibly_ tired, and thankfully, Stiles quiets, hand still hanging in the air, mid-flail. " _They knew,"_ he says, tone neutral and deliberately unbothered. "And Monroe said _no one_ made a move to leave Beacon Hills, so."

"Maybe they were being _secretive_ about for once," Stiles says, jaw set mulishly, "you know, _stealth mode."_ Theo snorts, but Stiles just crosses his arms _tighter_ over his chest, a muscle in his jaw flexing. "Because you _know_ that there's no _way_ they _wouldn't--"_

"What I _know_ ," Theo grits out, teeth _clenched_ so hard that his entire _head_ feels flexed, "is my _place_ in the pack. Which is _definitively_ outside. It would've been a _dangerous_ rescue mission, so _clearly_ Scott weighed the benefits and the risks, and--"

" _Benefits and the risks?"_ Stiles repeats, tone high and shriek-like, "Are you fucking _kidding_ me? Are we talking about the _same_ Scott McCall? The same Scott McCall who _gouged his own eyes out_ to protect his friends? Scott has _never once_ thought about the _risks_ of saving someone, the _fuck?_ "

"Yeah, well," Theo replies, "maybe he's _learning_ , so--"

"And _second,"_ Stiles continues, ignoring him completely, "Even _if_ Scott had said _no_ , you think everyone else would've just _gone with it? Blindly followed?"_ He scoffs. " _Outside the pack?"_ he mutters, indignant, and Theo can _tell_ he's about to go off on some kind of tirade, about to say _something_ disparaging, so:

" _Stop,"_ Theo says suddenly, voice _embarassingly_ hoarse, because he _can't_ , not here, not _now_ , can't have someone finally _tell him to his face_ the _reasons_ why he'll never be enough, the reasons why he'll never make up for what he did. " _Stop,_ I _don't_ \--" he manages, "I called them before I got here, and I told them _you_ were here, so they're coming to _Calgary,_ but _I_ don't want to talk about it. _Please_."

Theo doesn't think he's ever said _please_ in his life, and _especially_ not to _Stiles_. It appears to throw him so much, that he actually _listens_ to Theo, and for the first time, probably in the entire history of his existence, he _drops it._

He picks something else up instead.

He huffs, crossing his arms across his chest, and a knot of dread ties itself tighter and tighter in the pit of Theo's stomach. "How about," he tries, voice a little quieter, filled with something _else_ entirely, something Theo's having trouble identifying, "you cutting your _own damn liver_ out of your body? Huh? _'I've had a lot of practice'?_ The _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?"

"It _means_ exactly what it _sounds like_ it means," Theo shoots back. "What the _fuck,_ exactly, do you guys think I _did_ while I was with the Doctors?"

"Not _that,"_ Stiles hisses, the smell of something _thick and pervasive_ starting to fill the entire room. Stiles looks a little wild around the eyes. "What _else_ have you cut out of your body?"

Theo doesn't answer, and so Stiles presses further, pries _harder_ , even though he's not supposed to. "Didn't it _hurt?"_ he asks, voice cracking, but Theo's expression is perfectly blank, the way he's been practicing for _years_ to do.

"After you go through enough," Theo says carefully, "nothing hurts that much, anymore." The scent of Stiles's nausea, sharp and pungent rises up, coats the inside of Theo's mouth, and he almost _gags_ on it, it's so disgusting. " _Whatever,"_ Theo sighs, "the last ten years wasn't, like, _great_. Honestly, it wasn't even _good_. But, I _learned_ a lot, and that's probably why I'm still alive today, so." He winks, way more playful than he feels, and the mask feels light on his face, stretched too thin, cracking at the edges. "What doesn't kill you, and all that."

He doesn't say any more, because he _can't_ , he already feels too exposed, too _revealed_ , and if this were five years ago, Theo probably would've had to slit his throat in his sleep for everything Stiles knows about him. He doesn't say any more because he _can't_ , but Stiles appears to have filled in the blanks all on his own.

Stiles has gone a strange kind of silent, pale even for _him_ , and Theo almost can't _breathe_ , choking on the chemosignals that seem to suck up every bit of fresh air in the room, acrid and bitter.

"Why do you _smell_ like that?"

"Like what?" Stiles asks distractedly, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance, not even looking up at Theo.

"Like _guilt,"_ Theo snaps, because _that's_ what it is; a pervasive, all-consuming kind of guilt that's stinking up the room.

Stiles is quiet for a bit, but the smell doesn't abate, and Theo's just about to _push_ , about to ask him what's _wrong_ , or just tell him to fucking _stop it_ , when he finally speaks again.

"Do you know," Stiles starts, still refusing to meet Theo's eyes, " _why_ I was so suspicious of you, when you first came back to Beacon Hills?"

"You're a naturally and _pathologically_ suspicious person," Theo suggests, with a half-shrug.

"No," Stiles replies, and Theo quirks a dubious brow. "Maybe," Stiles corrects, with a huff, "but I would've just been, like, _wary_. You know what _really_ made you suspect number one?"

Theo does not.

"You said you were _Theo Raeken_ , someone we had known for, like, _half_ our _lives_ , but, like, there were all these things that you didn't _remember._ It was. . . _odd_."

Theo frowns. "Stuff about _you?"_ he asks, because he should have _known_ everything there was to know about the McCall pack, almost an entire year of nothing but planning and plotting and studying, and he's already hearing the ringing in his head, the whirring of a drill, the _failure, Trial One-Fifty-Seven_ , but Stiles interrupts.

"No," Stiles shakes his head, and Theo frowns, mind grinding to a halt. "Stuff about _you."_

\------

Something goes wrong, right in the middle of recess, and Theo drops like a rock, tumbling into the woodchips in an ungraceful heap.

Stiles doesn't remember much of it, except the teachers screaming, rushing to his body laying limp on the ground, some kids whispering and pointing, Scott's hands across his mouth, his face screwed up tight, like it is whenever he's on the brink of tears, and Stiles steps in front of him, instinctively. Shielding.

He remembers the sirens and the ambulance, and how he and Scott slipped out of the school unnoticed, amidst the chaos; tip-toed through the grass until they were past the exit, past the rusty playground gates at the back of the school, and then they ran like _hell_ , small feet pounding the pavement, sweating and panting. Beacon Hills is a small town, and Scott has had to walk straight to the hospital from school more than once, which means _Stiles_ has too. They know where they're going, and it takes them barely thirty minutes to _explode_ through the front doors, demanding to see him, asking what was wrong with him, if he was okay.

 _Something went wrong with his heart_ , Melissa says _, but he'll be okay._ She casts a glance backward to the hallway, something dark sliding over her face, before she turns back to them. _His Mom is with him right now_ , she says carefully. _So, it'd probably be best if you just went to see him later. Maybe at his house, after he's discharged?_

Scott and Stiles don't listen, because of course they don't.

Theo's in a bed, hooked up to a whole host of monitors, looking even _smaller_ than he normally does. They can only catch a quarter of Theo's Mom's profile from where they're hiding, huddled by the doorframe, but it's enough to see the pinched expression on her face as she scans down a clipboard, pen in hand, tapping impatiently against the edge of it in between quick, efficient scrawls across the paperwork.

"You know," she sighs, "I wish you would get this over with so that we don't have to deal with these," she gestures, pen in hand, " _episodes_ all the time."

"Get _what_ over with?" Theo asks, voice sounding _incredibly_ hoarse, and Stiles _remembers_ , remembers the tube that they have to shove down your throat when you can't _breathe_ , when you're _dying_ , and his breath catches in his throat, anxiety _skyrocketing_ , as he starts drumming his fingers against his thigh, an impulsive, nervous habit.

His Mom rolls her eyes. "You know," she says. " _Beeeeeeeep."_

Scott frowns, head tilting, because he doesn't _recognize_ the sound, but then again, he _wouldn't_. The thing is, though, Stiles was _there_ when the steady spikes of a heart rate monitor went suddenly flat, he was _there_ when his Dad started sobbing and when they put a sheet over her body. The sound of a monitor flatlining, the sound of _death_ , is permanently etched into his brain, ringing in his ears, and he's too young -- too naïve -- to understand. He thinks, doubtfully, _she can't_ possibly _mean--_

"I don't have the _energy_ to keep doing this, Theodore," she says, gaze still trained on the clipboard in front of her, as she ticks some more boxes, not even bothering to _look_ at her son, shrinking into himself in the thin hospital sheets. "I'm _exhausted,"_ she huffs. "Your father's going to have to work a double for the next _three months_ , just to pay for today. You need to start thinking about people other than _yourself._ It's not fair to _any of us_ \-- not your father, not Tara, and not _me_ \-- especially when we didn't _ask_ for any of this."

She doesn't raise her voice, tone perfectly even the entire time, but Theo's shoulders are up to his _ears_ , he's wound so tight. Scott doesn't understand, there's no way sweet, innocent Scott could understand, but _Stiles_ gets it.

" _Sorry,"_ Theo murmurs, and Stiles doesn't know if he's being quiet because his throat's still sore, or if it's because it's _expected_ of him, but as messed up as his voice is, his tone stays neutral. Stiles _swears_ he sees Theo's eyes look a little shiny, a little wet, but it could just be a trick of the light. This time, his Mom's eyes actually flick over, brief, before they come back to rest on the clipboard.

"Whatever," she snaps, sounding impatient, sounding _annoyed,_ "It is what it is. Stop making a scene."

\---

(This is the part of the story that Stiles never tells Theo, that Theo can _never know_. Not back then, back in the sepia-toned Beacon Hills of childhood memories, and not _now,_ in a dark, damp cell, somewhere in Calgary, with Theo's blood warming his hands. That, really, _no one_ can ever know.

Stiles doesn't know what to do with all the thoughts running around in his mind, whirring and whirring and whirring, and he can't get it out of his _head,_ can't think of _anything_ , except what he heard in the hospital.

Stiles just blurts it out one day, tactless, when he and Scott are hanging out. "I think Theo's parents are hurting him," Stiles says, and Scott frowns.

"How do you know?" he asks, sounding concerned, and now _Stiles_ frowns.

"The _hospital?"_ Stiles replies, incredulous. "You _heard_ some of the stuff his Mom was saying to him."

Something shifts underneath Scott's expression, something buried so far deep and gone so quick that between one blink and the next, it's gone, and Stiles can't pick it apart.

"I don't know, Stiles," he says. "She didn't seem mean. Or even _mad._ She didn't yell, she just sounded _tired._ " He scratches his head. "It's probably hard for her," he says, before his voice drops down low, almost to a whisper. " _My Mom said the Raekens are practically broke."_

And Stiles gets it. Stiles _understands._ Scott's Dad was angry and _mean_ , drank too much and yelled too loud, and it was _scary_. To Scott, the conversation in the hospital probably barely even raised any flags, because it wasn't the sound of glass breaking, the sound of voices screaming over each other, the smell of cheap booze, the sound of a door slamming. Scott's Dad burned hot, destructive and unpredictable, a raging inferno.

But Stiles knows better, knows people don't always have to burn hot, to hurt. Sometimes people burn _cold_ instead, not destructive and uncontrollable, but ruthless, deliberate, coolly detached, and they just _chip, chip, chip_ away at you carefully and methodically, with every biting word, until there's nothing left.

Stiles also knows that he'd lost his mom just a couple months ago at that point, the wound still raw and fresh, stinging with every accidental pass. Stiles's Mom screamed accusations that Stiles was trying to kill her, and Theo's Mom carelessly dropped the fact that she wished Theo was dead, and in Stiles's head, the math just about evened out. Only _one_ of them actually had a good excuse for _saying it,_ but also, only one of them is alive.

Scott's Dad is scary and angry and Stiles's Mom is dead. Maybe Theo's parents _hate_ him, but at least they're _there._ At least that's what runs through Stiles's mind, when he's old enough to think it, but young enough to not know better. To not know that sometimes, it really _is_ better to be alone and whole, than constantly chipped away at you're empty inside.)

\---

They bring it up, once, and it almost turns into a fight.

Stiles drops it in, casually, "You know you don't _have_ to stay with them, right?"

Theo gives him a look like he's grown a second head, while Scott's just stares.

"They're my _parents,"_ Theo says, slow and deliberate, like Stiles is having trouble _understanding._ "Where _else_ would I _stay?"_

The argument devolves from there, insults flying and words biting, and Scott's trying to get them to stop, always the mediator, but Stiles pushes too far, like he _always_ does, doesn't just _hit_ a nerve, he slices all the way through it.

"Sorry," he says quickly, _immediately_ , because it was _really nasty_ , _really_ horrid, and Theo's gone all the way quiet, as still as he was in that hospital bed.

"It's fine," Theo whispers back, but he's gathering his things, placing him into his backpack with a quick, ruthless kind of efficiency. He's getting up and Stiles doesn't know how to fix it, what to do. "It's not your fault," Theo says, hand tightly clutching the strap of his backpack as he ducks his head. "I'm fixing it," he says quietly, "I have a plan."

They're too inexperienced to know that those words are an _omen_ , to predict the worst.

Theo doesn't come to school for another month.

They worry about him. Scott worries something's happened to him, to his _heart_ , Stiles worries that his Mom has finally snapped. They go to his house once, but no one answers the door.

Stiles thinks about telling someone about was his Mom said. Someone, _anyone_ ; Stiles's Dad, who's the Sheriff, and might actually be able to _do_ something, Scott's Mom who's a nurse, and has probably seen things like this, who would _know_ what to _do._

 _We could tell someone,_ Stiles thinks.

They don't.

Scott probably doesn't even remember this part of the story, because none of it raised any red flags like it did for Stiles; none of it was important enough, strange enough, alarming enough to stick in his memory.

Stiles remembers _all_ of it.

This is the part of the story where Stiles, for once in his life, is quiet, because he was young and worried and _stupid_ , and he didn't know what to do.

The next time they hear news about Theo, it's that his sister drowned in the creek. Scott cries, and Stiles is _sad_ , but they never really knew Tara, for all that Theo was their friend.

When they try to find Theo and talk to him about it, they find his house completely empty, anyone who lived there long gone. _The Raekens left town,_ people whisper, _after the death of their daughter. Did you see it in the paper? So sad, such a young girl._

_\---_

(Stiles doesn't think Scott thinks about Theo much besides the times they used to hang out, recess and video games and the such, because Scott doesn't _know,_ doesn't _remember_ , but Stiles _does._

He wonders absently about Theo Raeken over the years, wonders where he is and how he's doing. Wonders if his heart finally gave up on him, or maybe if his parents did. When his thoughts run away from him, he wonders if his Mom finally got fed up of waiting, and just did the job herself.

If Theo's still alive, out there somewhere, he wonders if he's upset about being stuck with his parents, suffocated by their disdain, choked by a heart he can't control. He wonders if Theo's upset about his plan failing.

(On his darkest, _darkest_ days, when his Dad has a little too much to drink, struck by a sudden kind of grief, as he spends hours moping around the living room, cries and yells and pleads to a woman who doesn't exist anymore, Stiles thinks of a small boy hooked up to a monitor, a cold, detached mother, and a corpse in the creek with her heart eaten out by an animal, and he wonders if maybe Theo's plan didn't fail at all.))

\---

The next time they see him, it's the night of the Senior Scribe, it's pouring outside, Kira's back and Scott got a text message from an international area code, somewhere in Western Europe, after _months_ of radio silence that said nothing but _, add our names please :) xx_ , and then, from a different number, _miss you, that_ distracts him for most of the night and Stiles helps Scott craft the _perfect_ kind of nonchalant response, before Scott deletes it all, and impulsively sends back, _of course I will,_ adding the _xx_ at the end before Stiles can grab the phone out of his hand.

But that's not the point. The point is that their all standing beneath the underpass, rain pouring, a body at their feet, and there's a stranger with a mask on, smiling too wide, and pretending like he's Theo Raeken, and Stiles's eyes _narrow_.

 _Why are you lying_ , Stiles thinks. _Who would_ lie _about being Theo Raeken?_

That's when the suspicion starts, sharp and obsessive, and it eats and eats and eats away at him.

\---

The stranger smiles brighter and more charming than Theo ever did, because Theo was a pretty quiet kid, for all the shit that they got up to.

He laughs and jokes and is so conveniently helpful that Stiles can't help but _watch_ him, wary, wait for him to slip up, to _say_ something that doesn't quite add up.

They had the worst fight they've _ever had_ in their _life_ the last time they saw each other, and all Theo has to say is, _I guess I look a little different from the fourth grade_.

There's something unsettling about him, an uncanny valley-type thing, where he's _almost_ Theo, but not quite, and the cognitive dissonance of it _roils_ under Stiles's skin, buzzes in a way that irritates him, that makes his hair stand on edge.

There's a stranger wearing a mask and pretending to be Theo Raeken, but he doesn't bring up the fight, the _plan_ , anything.

And maybe he just forgot like how Scott forgot, maybe it was a long time ago, and these were trivial details that Stiles is exaggerating in his head. That would be the logical conclusion.

Somehow, Stiles knows it's not the correct one.

\---

Stiles finally snaps, and swipes his registration paperwork, sees the signature with the ink stain, _Johnathan Raeken_ , tells Scott about it.

Yes, it's creepy, and a violation of privacy, and possibly illegal, but Stiles has something to prove now.

Scott, the only person who could _possibly_ understand, doesn't get it.

 _So Theo's Theo,_ Scott says slowly, brow furrowed and head tilted, _but his Dad isn't his Dad?_

Stiles stares at him, incredulous, because, _really_ , how could he not _remember_.

The stranger pretending to be Theo says something about his Dad being injured, a broken arm, Stiles comes to find out, and the entire thing stinks to high heaven.

Because, the thing is, Stiles _knows_ Theo Raeken, knows him down to his _bones,_ and he can't have changed _that much_.

The thing is, Theo was always too scared of his father to ask him to sign things. Stiles has watched him forge his parents' signature on every single permission slip they got, neat and precise in a way that _impressed_ him.

The stranger gets along with his parents and smiles too bright and doesn't remember their fight, and says his Dad's injured.

 _Maybe he fixed things with his parents,_ Scott says when Stiles tells him this, always the optimist. _Maybe things got better._

Stiles remembers, _I'm fixing it. I have a plan_. Somehow, he doesn't think that was what Theo had meant.

Theo Raeken _never_ would've asked for his Dad to sign something, and he _never_ would have flubbed the signature this bad himself. It's too practiced a motion, fluid and reflexive, and he's _seen_ Theo do it countless times over the years.

_So, Theo's Theo, but his Dad isn't his Dad._

_Not quite_ , Stiles thinks back, and keeps watching him.

\---

_What happened to you?_ Stiles finds himself thinking. _Was this your plan?_

\---

Theo grins, charming, tries hitting on Malia despite the fact that Stiles _knows_ he's gay, because they _talked_ about it, all those years ago, he gets along with his parents and he's too loud, too sure of himself. He doesn't say anything about the nine years they shared together besides a small _shred_ of an anecdote, just to reassure Scott.

It was something about the way he told the story, something odd. Something along the lines of, _you consoled me after an asthma attack, told me your mom was a nurse._

Because, the thing is, it _did_ happen like that, Scott consoling Theo after especially bad asthma attacks, but Theo has known Melissa McCall was a nurse since the first day of Beacon Hills Elementary. Something about the way Theo made it sound like they were classmates, acquaintances, like he had just seen Scott and Stiles around, maybe had spoken to them a couple times, before he moved away with his family.

For all his anecdotes, he talks about them like he barely knew them, like they had barely known _each other_ , way back in the day, like Stiles was just someone else in the fourth-grade, and not the first person that Theo came out to under the cover of night at two in the morning, in the middle of a sleepover. Like they didn't sneak him out of his house, creeping quietly down the trellis, to explore the dark preserve in the early hours of the morning. Like Stiles didn't _sob_ into his shoulder when they found out about his Mom.

Three pairs of hands interlinked, childish giggling echoing across the tall trees of the preserve as they sprint through with flashlights, tripping over roots and leaves and their own feet and _each other_.

Three pairs of hands interlinked for _years_ , through Scott's Dad and Stiles's Mom, through broken arms and lazy summers and the first time Stiles got rejected by Lydia Martin.

 _We knew each other back in the fourth grade_ , Theo says. _We were classmates._

Three pairs of hands interlinked. A hospital bed, a fight, _I have a plan_ , a girl's heartless corpse lying dead and cold in the creek.

 _Buddy,_ Stiles thinks, even though he _knows_ this stranger isn't Theo, _we were so much_ more.

\---

They find out the truth. Tara's body, the Dread Doctors. _They told me she wanted me to have it_.

_It's not your fault. I'm fixing it. I have a plan._

_We could tell someone_ , Stiles had thought.

They didn't.

Stiles is sick when he finds out, after the whole scene in the library, and it takes him an _hour_ to stop dry heaving.

 _Oh, Theo_ , he thinks, _horrified. You_ didn't.

\---

He did.

\---

Kira sends Theo to hell, and no one's quite _comfortable_ with it, because they can tell she's not _herself_ , but no one seems to be in a rush to get him _out_ either.

He wants to shake someone. He wants to grab Scott by the shoulders and say, _Don't you get it? We did this. We didn't understand, all those years ago, because your Dad was too loud and I was too quiet, and we let him go, and this is what happened._

But Scott doesn't remember, he still wouldn't understand. And Stiles gets it, Theo was the first to try to kill Scott and _actually_ succeed.

He doesn't say anything _then_ , but when they pull him back out, much, much later, he tries to be quietly supportive, digging out a place for him in the pack, and Scott is a forgiving enough person to do the _same_ , even if he _doesn't remember_ , and Stiles doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at the _bewildered_ looks Theo always shoots them when he doesn't think they're looking.

\---

They're in a damp prison cell in Calgary, and Theo came to break him out, in some kind of horribly planned, self-sacrificing, one-man rescue mission, and he says things like, _I've had a lot of practice_ , and, _after you go through enough, nothing hurts that much, anymore._

Stiles fills in the rest of the blanks, what could've happened, what _must've_ happened.

_It's fine._

_It's not your fault._

_I'm fixing it._

_I have a plan._

Three pairs of hands interlinked. Three lies and one truth.

Stiles stayed quiet, and Theo thought he didn't have a choice, and now they're older and they both have too much blood on their hands, and the fact of the matter _is_ , a _lot_ of things are Theo's fault, but this one? This one is Stiles's.

\---

This is the story that Stiles tells Theo in Calgary, with Theo's blood on his hands in more ways than one. Theo's strapped to an examination table, and it makes Stiles _deeply_ uncomfortable how _comfortable_ he looks, like it's not the first time he's found himself there. Most truths about Theo make him deeply uncomfortable, actually, the top of which, is being able to cut his own organ out of his body without even flinching.

Theo says, _The Doctors took a lot of my memories, and unless I read the book, I won't ever get them back._

Stiles can't even imagine what kind of horrors he would discover if he read Valack's book. What kind of memories a person like that suppresses over the years. He thinks some memories should stay buried forever, some memories do nothing but hurt. Do nothing but _chip, chip, chip_ away at you.

Theo says, contemplative, _you know it's not your fault that I ended up with the Doctors, right?_ His chest is a long, bloody line, and Stiles can barely even hear what he has to say over the rush of blood in his hears. _It doesn't matter_ what _you would've tried back then, I probably would've gone with them anyways._

 _Hey,_ Theo says, _look at me. Let me take responsibility for my own actions. It's not your fault,_ he repeats.

He's much less convincing when he's not pretending to be charming, but Stiles wouldn't believe Theo anyways, because Theo also says things like, _My parents weren't_ abusive _,_ slow and cautious, like it's a hypothesis instead of a correction.

Stiles shoots him a look. He doesn't know what _kind_ of look, but it's definitely _some_ kind, because Theo's hackles are up.

 _They_ weren't _,_ he insists, brow furrowed, _It's not like they_ hit _me, or anything like that._

Cold and cutting, not hot and destructive.

_Chip, chip, chip._

Stiles thinks, _you were a victim too_ , but Theo's already wound too tight, he doesn't deserve to have this kind of information dropped on him while his body is still cut open, prostrated on an examination table, recovering from severe mercury poisoning.

They'll talk about it, eventually, because Stiles is _done_ being quiet. He did it once, and it was the worst thing he ever did, and he's never made the same mistake twice.

\---

Theo smacks his lips together a couple times, and Stiles bets he's suffering from the _worst_ kind of dry-mouth.

"M'kinda tired," Theo manages, blinking slowly.

Stiles feels _highly_ concerned. "You okay?"

"Fine," Theo reassures. "Jus' need rest."

"Rest," Stiles echoes dumbly.

"M'taking a nap," Theo mumbles, resolute. "Night."

And then he's out again.

\------

Theo wakes up again, to two people crowding him, and none of them are Stiles.

On reflex, before he even has time to blink the sleep out of his eyes, refocus his vision, he's leaning back to get some leverage, before _launching_ himself forward at the closest person, forehead meeting their nose with a satisfying crunch and a pained groan.

" _Theo,"_ he hears Stiles's admonishing voice, "Sorry, he's kind of feral, we're trying to train it out of him. Christ, can you _not_ \-- Oh," he says, "you hit Isaac? Never mind, you're good."

Isaac tips his head to the ceiling, blood flowing freely down his chin, one hand pinching his nose, the other flipping Stiles off.

"Isaac," Theo echoes, casting his mind back, back, back, " _Lahey?"_

He grins, shit-eating, even through the blood streaming down onto his teeth. "The one and only," he says, to the ceiling. "You know," he says, pensive, "I see it now. You and Dunbar, it makes sense. I've gotta be honest, I thought _he_ was the nose-breaker in the family."

Theo ignores him, because _clearly_ he accidentally gave him a concussion, and turns to the girl.

"That means you're. . ." his eyes widen, and her smile grows. "Oh, _shit_. You're--"

"Allison," she finishes, a dimple in her cheek appearing as she smiles, "Argent. Nice to finally meet you," she says, "I'd shake your hand, but . . ." her eyes flick down to his bloody, broken, claw-pierced hand.

"Argent talks about you guys," Theo says, eyes flicking between them, "a _lot."_

"Yeah," Isaac laughs, finally able to face him as the blood stops dripping from his nose, "he talks about _you_ too, _Theo."_

It takes less than a second for Theo's heart to drop down to his stomach.

"You've heard of me," Theo says, in as neutral a tone as is possible, but he can feel his heart _racing._

"Will you _relax,"_ Isaac huffs, with the most _insolent_ eye roll Theo has ever had the pleasure of witnessing in real life, which Theo thinks is a bit _much_ , considering he's wearing a _scarf_ , but. "We're not here to gut you, or whatever."

Theo's probably a little high on the mercury; that's the _only_ possible reason for why he _punches_ the gift horse straight in the mouth, and starts pushing, "Shouldn’t you guys be more _mad_?" he asks, because it's _bewildering,_ these people being perfectly pleasant to him after all he's done; Scott might've forgiven him, but he's the _True Alpha_ , and also one of the craziest motherfuckers Theo has ever _met_ in his _life._ "Aren't you, like, Scott's best friends?"

Allison snorts and Isaac chokes, and Stiles's indignant shriek from behind them, "The _fuck? I'm_ Scott's best friend, obviously. _They're_ ," he shoots them a strange look that Theo doesn't even know _how_ to pick apart, ". . . _Something else entirely."_

Isaac eyes Theo, considering. "We hear you're, like, Scott's supernatural son-in-law these days," he says finally.

"Isaac, _no_ ," Allison chides, "if you're doing it like that, it would make _him_ Scott's son _too._ That's _incestuous._ Not to mention," she continues, a gleam in her eye that makes Theo _thoroughly_ uncomfortable, "it would make _you_ and _Scott--"_

" _Okay,"_ Isaac cuts in hurriedly, looking a little green, " _yeah, no, yep, you've made your point_. Thank you, you can _stop_ now."

It takes Theo longer than it should, mind still a little sluggish, to pick apart the words _supernatural son-in-law_ , but when he does, he chokes _very violently_ on his own saliva.

"I-- _what?"_ he says, very calmly, in a voice that's definitely not a shriek, nope, no shrieking here, because Theo is calm and collected and definitely not shrieking right now. "That's not--" he wheezes, thoughts racing faster than he can contain them, before all but _screaming_ , " _I TRIED TO KILL HIM ONCE!"_

Stiles winces in the background, mouths, _Very smooth_.

Isaac and Allison look _supremely_ unaffected.

Isaac shrugs. "Happens to the best of us."

Allison pats him on the shoulder, almost _consoling._ "You're not that special, sweetie," she says, doe-eyes wide with sympathy. "I stabbed Isaac with knives a _lot_ that one time."

"I thought they were _Chinese ring daggers_ ," Isaac mocks, and Allison laughs, high and pleased.

"Aw, _babe,"_ she says, grinning, "you _do_ listen." She turns back to Theo, still smiling. "Also I shot his brother and sister a lot too. With arrows. And then my grandfather electrocuted them in our basement."

" _Right,"_ Theo says faintly, but it's barely audible over Isaac's confused, " _Brother and sis--?"_ and then, the subsequent, indignant, " _Oh,_ so when _you_ do it, it's okay?"

\---

"Wait, I don't get it," Theo finally cuts in, after the argument has devolved _so far_ that he can't even catch the thread of it anymore. "What are you _doing_ here?"

Allison winces. "The last full moon was pretty rough," she says, "so they aren't watching us that closely. Everyone's guard is down. No one's expecting us back until much later. Besides, this prison is too old for cameras."

"No," Theo shakes his head, "I meant _here_ here. _In Calgary_ , pretending to be one of Monroe's people."

"Oh," Allison tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "I'm undercover," she says, "as a French omega hunter. _Marie-Adrienne_. We caught her a week ago, but she was invited to come here, so."

Isaac shrugs. "I'm the newest recruit of the pack."

Theo frowns, but before he can ask, someone else walks in.

Stiles frowns too, and he's the one to speak up. "Who's this?"

"Glad you could make it," Allison greets, with a nod. She turns back to Stiles and Theo. "This is Nicolás, he's helping us with the jailbreak."

" _Nico_ , por _favor,_ " he corrects, smiling with the _whitest_ teeth Theo has ever seen in real life. His eyes flick to Stiles, and then Theo, before he stills, giving Theo a _very_ obvious once-over. " _You_ , however, can call me whatever you want."

He winks, and Stiles rolls his eyes. "He's taken," Stiles snaps, and Theo frowns.

"I'm _not_ ," he corrects absently, eyes skating over Nicolás's form, because there's something familiar about the way he holds himself, something familiar about the way he shapes his vowels, moves his tongue, a barely-detectable accent.

"We actually have to _go,"_ Isaac says, with a small wince. "We'll be back in about two hours, but we mostly just came to check in on the," he waves his hand at Theo's torso vaguely, "uh," he says, "mercury poisoning. Honestly, _still_ can't believe you survived that."

"See you in a few," Allison says, pecking Stiles on the cheek.

 _Northern Mexico_ , Theo surmises, placing the accent, trying to put the pieces together as Allison and Isaac move to leave their cell. Theo tilts his head. "What are you?"

Nico's smile widens, and he reaches for the top of his shirt beneath the flaps of his thick leather jacket. He pops one button open, one-handed, and then the second, moving down slowly as he exposes a tanned, muscled chest, maintaining a _deliberate_ kind of eye contact, that might make Theo flush, if he was a different person.

 _"You've gotta be fucking kidding me,"_ Stiles mutters, disgruntled, but Theo doesn't pay him any notice, not when he sees the familiar black rune inked across his left pectoral muscle.

"An _Osorio,_ " he breathes, shocked, flicking his eyes up to meet Nico's, and then through the door, where Allison and Isaac's shadows are still visible, before they shut the door. He narrows his eyes, quizzical. "Would've thought you'd be on _her_ side."

Nico scoffs, shakes his head, charming smile turning bitter. "I'm sure the one's you met in Mexico City weren't the _nicest_ of the lot, but the Osorios aren't here to _hunt the supernatural_ ," he says, tone full of a level of righteous fury that takes Theo aback, "they're here to maintain order. To uphold the law." He huffs. "And Monroe and her _people_ ," he spits, "are as _lawless_ as they come." His jaw his clenched _tight_ , and his eyes flare, just a _little_ , a pale kind of yellow that Theo has _never_ seen before, translucent, like it's superimposed over his real eye color.

"You smell _human_ ," Theo notes, trying again to pick apart his scent, to decipher _what_ , exactly he is. It's not _common_ for weres to _become_ Osorio's, but it's not _impossible_ either -- he'd known a few in the prison.

Nico blinks, confused, apparently, before he seems to catch on to what Theo's asking about, and he winks, _again._ "I _am_ human. Just took my medicine this morning for strength," he says, and fishes a small white pill bottle out of the front pocket of his pants, before turning back up to Theo, considering. "You know," he says, "you're something of an urban legend back home, these days."

Theo doesn't know what to say to that, doesn't know what Nico could _possibly_ mean, because the only people who have taken notice of Theo are the people who want _revenge_ against him for the stuff that he did while he was with the Doctors, so he just ignores him, choosing to focus on the other mystery instead. He nods toward the pill bottle. "What's in it?"

"You _really_ don't _know?_ " Nico asks, shock coloring his tone as his eyebrows shoot up.

" _Uh,"_ Stiles interrupts, and they both turn to him from where they had _forgotten_ he was still in the room, "he literally _just_ said that. _Answer the question._ "

 _Suspicion,_ Theo identifies, biting the inside of his cheek and trying not to smile. It's kind of hilarious when it's someone _else_ at the other end of it.

"They call them _quimis_ back home," Nico says, ratting the pill bottle demonstratively. "Short for _químicas,_ apparently. Chemicals. But some of us have a different theory."

Theo raises his eyebrows. "And what's that?"

"It's just a rumor," Nico says, "a _popular_ one, but a rumor nonetheless." A pause. "There's a theory," he says, "that it's _actually_ short for _quimera."_

Theo feels like the whole _world_ slows down, freezes, for a split-second, everything coming to a complete standstill.

" _What,"_ Theo breathes, and it's all he can _think_ , all he can _say,_ as all streams of thought come to a grinding halt.

Nico just nods, like he hasn't just shifted Theo's entire _worldview._ "They only perfected the prototype like, a year-and-half ago, but the effects last longer now." He flares his eyes again. " _These_ ," he says, "last the _whole day._ Virtually undetectable. No reaction to wolfsbane, mountain ash, or mistletoe. I slipped _right_ under Monroe's radar, even with _this_ in my system."

Theo's tongue feels too thick for his mouth. He stares dumbly, mind whirring, reshuffling and reorganizing and just trying to make _sense_ of _something_.

"It's just interesting," Nico says, slow and careful, "that the Osorios got their hands on the DNA of _la primera quimera_ , _your DNA_ , the day that someone important escaped from _La_ _Cárcel_ in Mexico City. Just a weird coincidence." Theo knows that tone, knows what's coming, and he tenses up, reflexively, sees Stiles start to instinctively mirror him, muscles winding tighter, feet stepping into a defensive position. "Isn't that weird," Nico asks casually, before, " _Tieso Abaroa?"_

" _Don't,"_ Theo hisses, feeling like he's been hit by a jet of cold water, tendrils of ice creeping down his spine, a phantom migraine beginning to throb in his head, _launching_ himself at Nico, even though he's still bound to the table, _furious_ , " _call me that. Don't you fucking call me that."_

"Wait," Stiles says slowly. " _Abaroa?_ Like, the--"

"So it's _true,"_ Nico breathes. "Oh my god," he says, " _oh my god."_ His hand comes up to cover his gaping mouth while he watches Theo with wide, unblinking eyes. "Oh my _god_ , my friends owe me so much _money_ , _mierda,_ I _knew_ it! I have so many _questions._ Did you _really_ rip your own kidney out of your body to pay for your freedom?"

"Kind of," Theo concedes angrily, and Stiles makes a punched-out, strangled noise, with a high, indignant "I'm sorry, you _what?"_ but Theo doesn't pay him any mind because, "Fuck _you,"_ Theo spits, _knowing_ that his eyes are flared, aware that he probably looks fucking _feral_ , but not giving a single _shit_ , because the adrenaline is _screaming_ in his veins at that name, and it's either let it out like _this,_ or _implode_ altogether. "I was _never_ an Abaroa."

"You know," Nico says distractedly, like he's still trying to recover from the _shock_ , even though _Theo_ is the one who should be shocked, because _no one_ should know about him, Arturo made _damn_ sure that he was hidden from a big part of the family, and from the rest of the supernatural world. "Gervasio Abaroa said the _same_ exact thing," he says, and Theo _bristles_. "I was at a diplomatic summit with him a year or two ago, and--"

" _Yeah?"_ Theo spits. "How _is_ that old fucker, anyways? Still creepy?"

"Struggling, cariño," Nico replies, a small line between his brows as he shakes his head. "You know it’s been hard for him since Carlotta."

"I don't _know_ anything about the goddamn _Abaroas_ anymore," Theo says, because it's _true_ , after his sixteenth birthday, the penitentiary in Mexico City, the Doctors finding him again, he had gone out of his way to avoid news about them, but _Carlotta_ , she was his _favorite_ , she was the only one who he ever _really_ considered family. She taught him how to drive a car and survive in the woods in full-shift form and open shell accounts in the Caymans to hide blood money, but also, like, how to put a condom on someone with his teeth. She was ruthless, but in a protective kind of way rather than a power-hungry one, like the rest of her family. Theo wouldn't be able to _bear_ it if something happened to her.

"Since Carlotta _what?"_ Theo asks, mouth dry, stomach _filled_ with the kind of dread he hasn’t had to feel in a _while_ , thinking, _no, no, no_ , because if there was _anyone_ in that horseshit family who deserved to _live_ , it was _her._ But the life of an Abaroa was dangerous, even for the caporegimes. "What happened to her?"

"Oh," Nico says, looking surprised, "she left," like it's just _that_ simple, but Theo feels like he's trying to put a puzzle together, and all the pieces are from different landscapes.

"She left," Theo echoes dumbly.

"Apparently," Nico says, arms crossed, "shortly after rumors of your detainment and _escape_ started surfacing, and it became known that _Tieso Abaroa_ escaped from _La_ _Cárcel_ , she denounced her claim to the Abaroas."

Theo almost _laughs_ , imagining all the time and energy and _betrayal_ that was involved in Gervasio and Arturo trying to keep the name _Tieso Abaroa_ a secret -- unknown to family and enemies, alike -- and it became public because of his incarceration and _fake_ escape from Mexico City. Maybe, if he hadn't been caught by the Osorios, if Gervasio hadn't thrown him to the wolves, ripped the bond out of his head and left him for half-dead, he would still be with the Abaroas, still be their dirty little secret, their teenage attack dog.

But also, Nico's words are ringing in his mind: _she denounced her claim to the Abaroas, she denounced her claim to the Abaroas, she denounced her claim to the Abaroas shortly after rumors of your detainment and escape._

"She _abdicated,"_ Theo realizes. _Carlotta Abaroa_ abdicated her place in the line of succession for the Abaroa alphahood.

" _Oh_ ," Stiles says suddenly, snapping his fingers, "I _do_ remember hearing about that. She went down South of the border after her abdication, passed all the way through Mexico. It was, like, a pretty big deal. Got into a lot of trouble at the capital, apparently, because news hadn't traveled fast enough that she had denounced, so some of the packs further South took it as an act of _war,_ for like, ten hours."

 _The capital,_ Theo thinks. _Mexico City._

_She denounced her claim to the Abaroas, shortly after rumors of your detainment and escape started surfacing._

And Theo almost stops _breathing_ when he realizes: _she came for him. She left because of me_ , he realizes, _she looked for me_ , and briefly, just allows himself an indulgent half-second to wonder what might've happened if he had laid low and lurked around Mexico City for a bit, long enough for Carlotta to find him, rather than laying around in a hotel room, ripe for the taking by the Doctors. Maybe he would've been _happy._

It wasn't _that_ long ago; it was right before the Doctors (Theo) had set the McCall pack in their sights. He would've gone south to wherever Carlotta's settled these days, stayed with her. Never would've come to Beacon Hills, never would've tried to kill Scott, never would've gone to hell. _Maybe he would've been happy._

Theo thinks of furious blue eyes flashing gold, hair that's too long to not be ridiculous and a smile that's too easy to not make Theo's heart skip a beat, warm apple pie in a cozy diner, the sound of mindless chattering in the back of his truck as too many people pile in. The warm press of a forehead to his own, an arm wrapped around his waist, the feeling of fighting in perfect synchronicity, like someone else is just an _extension_ of his own body.

His sun, his moon, his _truth._

So, then again. Maybe not.

"I hear she's somewhere in South America these days," Stiles says, scrubbing a hand across the underside of his jaw. "Playing alpha for some nomad pack."

And that's _great,_ Theo's _happy_ that she's okay, that _she_ escaped too, even though there was literally _no one_ better suited to the role of Alpha of the South, of the _Abaroas_ than _she_ was.

"So," Theo says, "who would be the--?"

"Now, Gervasio has to groom _Despiadado_ to take over," Nico answers, cracking a half-smile, and Theo chokes on his spit.

" _Cisco?"_ he breathes, disbelieving, and then he can't stop the _cackle_ that bursts out of him, "No _way,_ oh my _god_ ," he manages, in between peals of loud laughter, "what the _fuck."_

"I _know_ ," Nico replies, a full blown grin shining bright and pretty on his face. "I said the _same thing."_

"He once asked me if werewolf has an _h_ in it," Theo confides, and then they're _both_ off, bursts of uncontrollable laughter, and Theo would probably fall over if it wasn't for the fact that he's still strapped to an examination table.

" _Wherewolf,"_ Nico wheezes, and Theo snickers so hard that he almost tears his stitches.

" _What the fuck is happening,"_ Stiles says distantly, but neither of them even register it, laughing until something _cramps._

_\---_

When Isaac and Allison return, two hours later, they’re worried and frazzled. Allison’s eyes are even _wider_ than they usually are, and Isaac’s hands are visibly shaking, even as he shoves them into his pockets to hide it.

"We need to move the plan up," Allison says, something urgent and panicked in her tone. "Monroe's been sending a _lot_ of the higher-ups away in the last couple hours, they've been getting fighting order's down South. I didn't think it would _matter,_ because I'm _not_ one of her _officers,_ but," Allison drags in an inhale, and breathes it out, Isaac's hand squeezing her shoulder, "I just got mine too. I leave early tomorrow morning." She turns to Nico. "They'll probably give you _yours_ tonight."

"Something's happening," Isaac says, eyes wide. "Something _big_ is happening tomorrow. They're bringing in a _bunch_ of new people from the pack, and _trust me_ , we do _not_ want to still be here when they come."

"A _supernatural_ pack?" Theo asks, " _They're_ allied with _Monroe?"_ Isaac nods, quick and nervous. " _Why?"_

"Women can still be misogynistic," Allison offers.

Isaac winces. "They're a _werewolf_ pack," he elaborates, "with an . . . Interesting moral code. They're all murders, _every single one of them_ on the higher council, borderline _serial killers,_ but they don't let werewolves into the pack unless their eyes are yellow."

Theo frowns. "I don't follow."

"They've never killed an _innocent_ soul," Isaac responds, brows raised, imploring Theo to understand.

Theo stares, wishing he _didn't_. "You mean--"

This time it's Stiles who speaks up. "They see themselves as _monster hunters_ , of some sort," he says.

"The higher their kill count, the higher their status in the pack," Isaac explains. "They only kill supernaturals who are _guilty_ , whatever the _fuck_ that means, with the only exception of kids under _eleven_ , because, apparently, that's some kind of weird moon-magic maturation age." Isaac sighs, furrowing his brow, and tugging on one side of his scarf. "They like to play judge, jury, executioner in this region. It's how they expanded so much in the last decade. They control almost the _entire_ coast now. Nobody really _knows_ how they operate except for the people who _live here_ , because it's not really common knowledge. The rest of the world just thinks they're _good_ and _pure_ , because of the color of their goddamn _eyes_."

Theo turns back to Stiles. " _'The pack who owns this territory don't exactly take prisoners,'_ " Theo echoes. " _You_ said that. What _, exactly,_ did you mean?"

"Rumor is," Isaac answers, drawing his attention, "that before they started acting as patrons for Monroe -- funding her, giving her prison space, whatever -- this was where they would store the people they were planning to execute officially." He pauses, brief, before elaborating darkly, "The people they were planning to _make an example of_. So, not prisoners, just people waiting in line to die. But since they started funding Monroe, this place has basically turned into a goddamn _lab_. Pretty much everyone here has been turned into some kind of _experiment_ , besides _Stilinski_ here, because they think _humans_ are, like, the _epitome_ of innocence, and because they didn't even _mean_ to catch him, he just _snuck in_ and didn't have a good enough exit plan."

Stiles flips Isaac off, but Isaac doesn't even turn to _look_ at him.

"Wait," Theo says, digging in in the _very_ back of his head, all the way back to when he was new and scared and barely even a chimera yet. "I did some work up here for the Doctors, way back in the day. Granted, it was all the way on the other coast, up in Quebec, but I might still have some intel."

"Oh," Isaac replies, eyebrows raised, "then you might actually know them. I think they used to be centered around there, before they expanded along the rest of the coast." He sighs. "They're called the Vadeboncœur pack."

\---

Blood red eyes in the dead of night, in the dampness of a seedy alleyway, a small body lolling in his hold, until it wasn't anymore.

_We've heard about you. We know what you've done._

_We have no place for you._

_You're not welcome here, chimera._

He never thought those words would ever be a _blessing_ , a _gift_ , and yet they were. Ten years old and already a monster, Theo had escaped by the skin of his teeth.

(Theo regrets that he didn't _keep_ researching into the pack, even after he left, after he developed better espionage skills than he had at ten-years-old. That he let his _emotions_ cloud his logic, and _avoided_ all news of the pack for _years_ , and it could've led to someone he _cared_ about being put in a dangerous situation, but Teena was too young, too innocent. They would've hurt her. Even if they're killers. Maybe they'll turn her into a monster hunter too, and she'd put a bullet between his eyes at the drop of a hat, but at least she'll be safe. At least she'll be alive. At least she'll have a family, which, honestly, is more than Theo ended up with.)

\---

"I _did_ actually ask for backup," Theo pipes up. "I got ahold of Liam, told him we were in Calgary, asked him for help. If everything goes okay, it should only take them about a day to get here."

Allison shakes her head, quick and sure. "It doesn't matter. We need to move the plan up to tonight," Allison says, "because me and Nicolás won't be here tomorrow, and after the rest of the Vadeboncœurs move in, you guys might not have a _chance_ to escape."

"Okay, _fine,"_ Theo concedes. "You got a _plan?"_

"You guys are all the way in the _back,"_ Isaac says. "The prisoners in the _front_ , closest to the entrance, are the lowest security ones. They'll be the ones easiest to break out. We're gonna open their cells up _first."_

"We _wanted_ to do it on the night of the full moon," Allison confesses. "That's when _everyone_ except Monroe's people would be at their _peak_ , except things started going wrong. They doubled everyone's dosages, just in case. And also, we realized that some of the supernaturals they have here are _bad_. Like, _really_ bad. _Ripper_ bad."

"And, honestly, there's no way to tell which _ones_ ," Isaac cuts in. "It's not like we trust _them_ , and it's hard to get this kind of information out of the other guards or the higher-ups. People, hunters _and_ pack members, start looking at you funny if you ask too many questions. Also, it probably doesn't help that we spent the last couple _years_ in Europe, and everyone _here_ is from the Western hemisphere."

"There's no way to tell who'd help us, and who'd hurt us," Nico says, crossing his arms over his chest, shirt still unbuttoned.

"That's . . ." Stiles says, "a pretty _big_ flaw in step _one_ of your plan."

"So, your problem is that you don’t _know_ anyone," Theo extrapolates. Allison gives a conciliatory shrug. "Well," Theo says, grinning. "Lucky for _you_ , _I_ know _everyone."_

_\---_

"Whoever's on shift at midnight," Allison says, "they'll be the greenest hunters here. The most _recently_ recruited, because everyone above them has already gotten their fighting orders. That should make it easier for _you_." She nods at Stiles. "They've been trying to grill you, lately, right?"

"Yeah," Stiles says. "So . . . What? Say I'm finally ready to talk?"

"Exactly," Nico replies. "They'll have to unlock the door, take you outside. You can take it from there."

"Get their guns," Stiles surmises.

"Get their guns," Allison echoes approvingly.

"They usually lock all the weres up at night _really tight,"_ Isaac says, turning to Theo. "They're _terrified_ of how any special moon might affect us, not just the full moon. So, _normally_ , you would be _completely_ tied up, shackled to the wall. Probably an electric current running through you to keep you from shifting, just for insurance."

Theo raises an eyebrow. " _But . . .?"_ he prompts.

" _But,"_ Isaac obliges, " _tonight_ , _someone,"_ he winks, "tipped off the warden that you've been a McCall pack ally for the last couple of months, but you're probably _just_ slimy enough to turn on them, if persuaded correctly."

"You say the sweetest things," Theo deadpans, and Isaac rolls his eyes.

"You're gonna be tortured tonight for information," Isaac says. "But, they'll have to _take you out of this room to do it_. Probably to the unfinished part of the prison, upstairs. The prison was supposed to have two stories, but they never finished construction. The _point_ is, you'll be away from the shackles and the currents. In _there,_ they can tie you up, maybe electrocute you a little, but you won't be _completely immobile._ You probably won't be able to shift, which is what they're counting on, what makes them _lower their guards_ , but I've heard about you." His eyes narrow, head tilting. "Even in _Europe,_ we've heard about you. You don't fight like a werewolf."

Theo shrugs, one-shouldered. "I'm not as strong as one," he admits, because everyone knows it by now, even _Monroe's_ people -- they'll be _relying_ on it, in fact -- there's no point in denying it. "Gotta cover the gap _somehow."_

Allison nods. " _Good,"_ she says. "Then they won't be expecting you. They won't be expecting you to not _need_ the shift to get out. Nico and I are going to be at the front, opening the right cells, letting the right people go. That should create enough of a diversion for no one to notice you and Stiles in the back. And we'll have more support, quicker, since the front cells are the easiest to open." She turns to Isaac. "You're running point."

Isaac looks a little taken aback, for as collected as he tries to present himself. " _Me?"_

Nico nods. "We won't be able to get to the back in time, if they need help. You're faster than the both of us, even with the _quimis._ It can only be you."

Isaac is quiet for a bit, apparently thinking it over, before he sighs, bracing. " _Okay,"_ he relents. "Okay."

"The most important part of a big takedown like this, when you don't have much support, is _pacing._ There's too many of them, and not enough of _us_ , so it's something we have to think about. If you time it right," Allison says, eyes flicking between Theo and Stiles, "you two _should_ have to take down the same amount of guards." She turns to Theo. "If _you_ go too early, you'll be out before Stiles can even start, and the guards in this sector are gonna go after _you_ , when you're sore and injured, and Stiles can't even help. He'll be stuck in _here,_ and you're gonna have to fight for your life on your own."

"I don't _get_ sore," Theo snarks, just a little, but Allison ignores him completely, turning to Stiles instead.

"If _you_ start too early," she says, "and the gunshots start before Theo's ready to try and escape, whichever officers are torturing him could just freak out and slit his throat. I've seen it happen before."

"This plan gets better and _better_ by the _second,"_ Stiles says, a comically unconvincing fake-smile stretching his face. Allison ignores _him_ too.

"Stiles, make them take you out of your cell, secure their weapons _without_ deploying them, and _then_ , once you've taken them down, you can start shooting," Allison says, staring him _straight_ in the eye, tone firm and unflinching and Stiles nods obediently.

 _We raise our women to be leaders_ , Theo thinks, the words in Argent's voice echoing around his head. He and Allison get the same concentrated line between their brows and the _exact_ same tone when their planning. It makes Theo smile, just a little.

" _Theo,"_ she says. "Stay sharp. They don't _actually_ know _you_ , they only _think_ they do. They're expecting a werewolf, but you're _not_ one, not really. Make your move as soon as you hear the gunshots. Get out of there." She doesn't seem to be expecting a response, but her eyes are dark and serious, commanding, and he can't help but acquiesce with a quick, telling nod.

Isaac laughs, a little hysterical. " _God,_ I can't believe we're actually doing this."

"Here goes nothing," Stiles says, grinning back, the rush of adrenaline between the five of them so _strong_ that Theo can almost _taste_ it, keeping them from sniping at each other, letting them float on a dangerous kind of high.

 _A hunter, a werewolf, a supernatural law enforcement officer on supernatural steroids, a human, and a recently-reformed international supernatural spy walk into a bar,_ Theo thinks, equally hysterical, _or_ , he thinks _, walk out of a prison._

"Here goes _everything_ ," Allison corrects, respectable and serious, even through her adrenaline-giddy smile.

\------

Liam gets a call, around ten minutes after Theo hung up on him, and he scrambles for the sad, crumpled phone to answer.

It's the same unknown number, and Liam thinks, _maybe._

It's not Theo, but Liam pretty much knew it wouldn't be, the second he hit the answer button.

"Hello?" he croaks.

"Um, hi. Liam Dunbar, right? I have some information that might be useful to you."

"Who _is_ this?" Liam frowns. "How do you know who I am?"

"Uh," the man replies. "It's Spencer. And," he lets out a deep, tired sigh, "it's kind of a long story."

\------

"The _mafia_ , Theo, _really?"_ Stiles hisses, the second Allison, Isaac, and Nico leave. "The _Abaroas?"_

"I _told_ you I had a rough adolescence, the _fuck_ did you expect?"

" _Unbelievable."_

\---

A thick hand smacks Theo across the face, and Theo moves with it, lets his head move with the force, whipping to the side, before rolling his head back up to face his captors.

There are three of them. If Theo had to guess by the way they're holding themselves, he would say one officer, and two newer recruits.

There are no fancy shackles, just a pair of handcuffs thicker than human ones, and an electric current running through his body. These are _annoying_ , but not the worst thing they could've done.

He's barefoot, cuffed to a wooden chair that's _precariously_ close to a hundred foot drop, an alarming area of unfinished flooring, where a slight tip backward would take him straight downstairs. There are still power tools and support beams littering the area, hooks dangling from chains hanging from the ceiling (that Theo is honestly _surprised_ they didn't make more use of), old scaffolding still covering the sides of the room. Isaac was exactly right about where they would take him.

"Who are you allied with?" the officer asks him, trying to play coy in a way that Theo doesn't really have the patience for, and struggles not to roll his eyes at. "The McCall pack, right?" he continues, and one of the henchmen come forward, and tip his chair backward, until it's just balancing on the back two legs, holding him there, and Theo can _feel_ the gravity pulling him down. All the hunter has to do is let go, and Theo would drop a hundred feet. At this height, with the current running through him, his liver just taken out, still recovering from the effects of mercury poisoning, there would be no healing from that.

Theo's legs instinctively reach for the floor, toes pointed as far as they can, just barely brushing the concrete, as they kick reflexively, and Theo makes eye contact with the hunter tipping his chair back, tries to see if he'll actually do it.  


"Does he think we have to go through _him_ to move South?" the officer asks, and Theo's eyes flick back to him.

"South?" Theo asks, and the hunter tipping his chair back slowly lets up, until all four legs are back on the ground. "All that's down South is nostalgia and Abaroa territories, and we _both_ know that those things are too powerful for the likes of _you."_

The officer chuckles, dark and mean, as he takes a step toward Theo, and then another.

"The _Abaroas?"_ he echoes, incredulous. "Their hold is _paper_ thin over the southern front these days." He keeps moving forward until he's right in front of Theo, brow raised. "Your outdated information betrays you," he says, taking another step forward, before eyeing Theo, considering. "The infamous First Chimera," he says, clucks of disappointment escaping, "and he turns out to be nothing but another pretty face?"

He moves back, out of Theo's personal space, and all Theo can feel is _relief_ , as he pushes harder, tries to get deeper under their skin. " _Aw_ ," he coos, mock-pleased, "you really think I'm _pretty_?"

The officer takes another step back, eyes flicking to the hunter next to Theo, and the hunter _grabs_ Theo, one hand tight in the back of his hair, the other wrapped across his jaw, holding it open clumsily, pushing his bottom jaw to the side in a way that Theo's pretty sure bones aren't supposed to move, one hand pressing _hard_ into his cheekbone, while the officer walk farther to the back.

"You're going to tell us McCall's plan," the officer says, stepping closer and closer to the card in the back. "You're going to tell us if he's going to _interfere_ in our plans to move South, because we've _seen_ McCall presence in the Pacific Northwest, between here and where we need to go, in the last couple days."

The officer finally reaches the cart. "You're going to tell us," he says, before he pulls a rusty-looking pair of pliers from the card, and turns to face Theo with a twisted smile, " _or_ we're going to get it out of you."

Theo stays quiet, even as the officer moves toward Theo, with one step, and then another.

 _Come_ on _, Stiles_ , Theo thinks desperately, _really not in the mood to lose my last remaining molars._

The officer is _right_ in front of Theo, pliers dipping into his mouth, and _that's_ when the gunshots start.

All three of them startle, just a bit, heads whipping down to the direction where the noise is coming from, and it's the opening that Theo needs, the hunter's grip slackening on Theo, until he's not even touching him, and Theo makes his move.

"Sorry, y'all," Theo says, grinning. "It's been fun, but we're gonna have to cut this party short." And with that, he aims a sudden, _vicious_ kick to the groin of the officer in front of him, who _immediately_ doubles over, pliers tumbling out of his hand as he falls to his knees, and Theo _pitches_ himself forward, until their heads meet with a satisfying _crack_ and the officer falls to the floor, body rolling, struggling to get back up.

He gets up, maintaining a constant forward lean to keep his balance, the chair still attached to his back, shackled to his arms, and both hunters approach him quickly. He focuses on the closer one, kicking _him_ in the groin with a force that sends him _backward_ , landing flat on the floor with a _thump._ The _other_ hunter, a woman, moves quicker, swings a meaty fist at Theo that he has to duck to duck to dodge, and she _swings_ her body with the force of her punch, leaving her back vulnerable, so Theo _twists_ himself, until the back of his chair _thuds_ into _her_ back, sending her to the floor as well.

The first hunter starts getting up, and Theo almost loses his balance, but he turns the forward momentum into a forward roll, centering the somersault along the line of his shoulders, and when he reaches the hunter, Theo's back is to his front, the chair between them. Theo _whips_ his hips backward, so that the back chair legs hit the hunter's kneecaps _hard_ , hears a groan, and then he _shifts_ his weight back, putting the back chair legs down on the hunter's feet and _pressing_ until he hears them _crunch_ , and when he feels the hunter's pained breathing on the side of his neck, can tell the position of the head, and the angle Theo needs to move back in, he _whips_ his head backward, and the back of his skull meets the hunter's face in another satisfying _crunch._ He feels the wind of the hunter's arms rushing up to grab his broken nose instinctively, which means his arms are occupied, he's not centered anymore, and Theo gets up, and _turns_ , using the back legs of the chair to sweep the legs of the hunter, and the hunter crashes to the floor.

The woman has gotten back up, recovered, and makes her way towards Theo, swinging desperately, but Theo kicks her in the stomach before she can follow through, and her fist falters. He hits her in the side with the back of his chair again and she grabs her injured arm, and Theo hears rustling, sees the hunter on the floor _maybe_ trying to make a recovery, so he goes back, kicks him in the chest for good measure, and when the woman moves toward Theo again, Theo doesn't even hesitate, and uses the hunter's back the way he's used to using _Liam's_ , pushing against it to get the leverage he needs to _spring_ his legs back and flip _forward_ into the air, turning three-sixty degrees, before landing on the woman with the back of his chair, and it finally gives out, legs, seat, and _back_ snapping, only the arm rests he was cuffed to still attached, the cuffs still running a constant current through his body.

The hunter Theo used to flip forward has used the time to get up, and grabs Theo from _behind,_ but Theo's not incapacitated anymore, he can _use his hands_ , and he _does_ , grabbing the hunter's hand from where it's gripping bruises into his ribs, and bending the fingers back until he hears them _snap_ until he hears him _scream_ , and then, before the hunter can react or retaliate, using his hold on his arm and his exposed midriff to _punch_ the point of his elbow into the weakest part of his ribcage, and then, when his arm comes back _down_ to protect it, _whipping_ him in the bicep with the thick wooden rod still cuffed to Theo's hand, and the hunter moves with the force of it, turning.

Theo jumps up, pushing his legs hard enough to get his legs high enough to kick him in the chest hard, the force of it sending _Theo_ backwards and down, onto his back, and he compresses his body with the momentum, curves his arms by his head, and twists his legs back up, using his whole body like a _spring_ to flip back onto his feet, and then getting a _running start_ towards the man, each step measured and precise, launching his body _up_ , and wrapping his _thighs_ around the front of his neck, moving into a backward flip, legs swinging back down gracefully, and the man's head moves _with_ Theo's legs, twisting to the ground and sliding forward, falling onto his back with a loud groan. He doesn't get back up, but he's still breathing.

Both hunters are on the ground, but _the officer_ finally starts struggling up. He's not a trained fighter; he moves too slow and too clumsy. But he's armed right now and he could be important later.

Theo grabs one of the chains hanging from the ceiling, makes his way to the officer, who still looks bleary, grabs the back of his head, and _slams_ his forehead forward into the metal scaffolding, and when his head turns to Theo, Theo grabs his calf, _hoists_ it up until the officer loses his balance and his grip on his firearm falters, and wraps the chains around the ankle _tight,_ before shoving him lightly through the unfinished flooring and he falls, around seventy feet, before the chain finally catches him and he stops, suddenly, dangling there upside down by his ankle with a loud groan.

Theo jumps onto the chain, sliding down the length of it like a fireman pole, hopping off when he gets to the ankle, but not before he nicks the pistol from the officer's belt, and jumps the remaining twenty-something feet, dispelling his momentum with a quick, perfunctory forward roll, and swinging the door open to head back to the main part of the prison, quickly making his way through the hallways to Stiles's section.

\---

Theo gets to Stiles's section to find out that Stiles is still in his cell, and he freezes for just a second, unsure.

"Uh," Theo says. "You were supposed to be out."

"Yeah," Stiles hisses. "No shit. But, Allison and Nico started earlier than the guards could make it here, and so now, I'm pretty sure their at the front, with the rest of the prison staff."

Theo frowned. "So you've just been, what? Sitting here?"

"Of course not," Stiles snaps. "I've been making Molotovs," he says, gesturing to the back, the cart with the empty test tubes, except the test tubes aren't empty anymore.

Theo quirks a brow, "Lydia?"

Stiles nods. "Lydia," he confirms. "Plus, they didn't account for us having mercury, or, uh," his eyes flick back to the dark, congealed pool of blood on the floor, "iron."

Theo shrugs, acquiescing, before calling, just loud enough for werewolf hearing to pick it up, " _Isaac_!"

"I mean," Stiles says, rubbing the back of his neck, "it still needs an ignition source, probably something with--"

" _Isaac_!"

"--nitrogen in it, so if I just get my hands on a gun, I could--"

" _Isaac, I fucking swear to god._ "

"--probably do some real damage. Oh, hey, Isaac."

Isaac holds up a finger as he remains doubled over, hands braced on his thighs as he pants heavily.

" _Hey_ ," he finally says, when he catches his breath. "You called?"

Theo stares at him incredulously for a second, before flicking his eyes to Stiles, still in his cell.

"Oh," Isaac says, freezing, furrowing his brows. "That's . . . a problem."

" _Yes_ ," Theo says, rushed, "we _got_ that, _thanks_. Now, can you help us, or what?"

"What?" Isaac asks, head whipping to Theo, eyes wide. "What am _I_ supposed to do?"

"Kick down the door," Theo replies, trying to keep the exasperation out of his tone. It doesn't work.

Isaac eyes the door dubiously. "I _can't_ ," he insists. "That thing is _solid steel_."

" _So_?" Theo snaps. "You're a _werewolf_ , just dig deeper. Just get _angry_."

" _What_?" Isaac repeats, louder, almost yelling and Theo is so, completely done with this. "I _still_ wouldn't be able to kick through _solid steel_ , what the _fuck_?"

Theo frowns harder. "What the _hell_ kind of werewolf are you?" Theo screams back, arms thrown up in exasperation, and Isaac shoots back, "A _regular_ one, Jesus _fucking_ Christ."

Theo sighs. " _God_ , I miss _Liam_."

"We _know_ ," Isaac and Stiles chorus, in a horrifying, humiliating kind of unison, and Theo sighs harder.

\------

Stiles remembers three pairs of legs tangled underneath a warm duvet. They're all on Scott's bed, but it's in the early hours of morning, so Scott is dead to the world. Theo has problems falling asleep, just like Stiles does, so they're staring up at the ceiling, shooting questions back and forth.

"What do you want," Stiles whispers, "like, in a guy, I mean."

Theo draws the duvet up higher, all the way up to his chin, and he's quiet for so long that Stiles thinks he might've pushed too far, like he does sometimes.

"I don't know," Theo whispers back, finally. "Maybe, just. Like." He sighs. "Someone who would fight for me."

Stiles is eight-years-old, and doesn't know what to say to that. _Fight what_ , he thinks. _Fight who?_

"Oh," is all he says, and Theo must hear something in his tone because he shoves at his shoulder with a snort.

"Not all of our brains stop at _strawberry blonde hair, Stilinski,_ " he snickers, and Stiles shoves him back.

\---

Stiles wasn't in Beacon Hills for the Wild Hunt, even though he hears that they brought him back from Hell before they got Stiles back, and privately, he's relieved. Maybe Theo will finally get a chance to be who he wants to, without his parents or the Doctors, or anyone. He isn't around for the Wild Hunt, so he doesn't see where it starts, with the exception of something strange in Liam's eyes when they all talked at the train tracks.

Liam's sprinting away from them, suddenly, and Stiles asks, _Were we like that?_

Scott laughs, replies, _Worse_. But he doesn't take his eyes off of Liam's figure shrinking into the distance.

 _What's wrong_ , Stiles had asked, and Scott shook his head, dismissive, even as he answered.

 _I don't know_ , Scott says. _There's something different about him._ He tilts his head. _His heart was beating too fast_.

Stiles frowns. There was a beat of silence. _He was running_ , Stiles suggests.

Scott shakes his head again, looks a little pensive. _Still_ , he replies.

\---

Stiles isn't there for the Wild Hunt, and he isn't there for most of what goes down with Monroe in Beacon Hills, but between "You really thought you were doing this without me?" and the _end_ , with the Anuk-Ite, shattering a jar of mountain ash onto the floor of the library, blood dripping from Scott's eye sockets, Stiles had _watched_.

Not in a paranoid way, not _anymore_ , but he sees the way they respond to each other, finding each other in the middle of a room, almost _automatically_ , locking eyes, moving in sync without even realizing it. Push and pull, like the gentle, consistent waves of the ocean.

Theo's not the same as when Stiles left, not at all. The fake smiles are gone from when he was pretending to be good and charming and the fake hostility is gone from when he was pretending to be evil and power-hungry, and what's left underneath is something more genuine, more _raw_. He's quieter and Stiles has only seen him smile _once_ , standing next to Liam, exchanging low murmurs, and it's the smallest thing, the slightest quirk of the corner of his mouth, but it's _real_ in a way that Theo hasn't been since he came back to Beacon Hills, probably hasn't let _himself_ be in a long, long time. It's everything of the Theo he used to know, and something more.

Liam pushes, Theo pulls, and they sway together, standing side by side, knuckles brushing together as they're all discussing the plan, and Liam's eyes shoot up to lock with Theo's right after he says something, Theo gives a small, almost imperceptible nod, and Stiles doesn't know _what_ just passed between them, what any of it means, _why_ Theo seems to be the only one who can calm Liam down, why _Liam's_ the only one who Theo replies to so _earnestly_ , but he still remembers, _maybe just someone who would fight for me_ , and has to fight a smile as he thinks, _buddy, you might've found him._

\------

Isaac and Theo are still bickering, when they hear it again -- the gunshots.

"I _knew_ I heard them," Theo says, turning to the direction where they're coming from; the front.

"Allison doesn't use guns," Isaac says slowly. "And Nico uses a silencer."

Stiles frowns. "Then who--?"

"Wait a second," Theo says, "I _know_ that gun, that's--"

That's when they hear it. A long, loud roar, one that reverberates through the walls, rattles the doors of the cells -- one that Theo can feel in his _teeth_ , it's so much brighter than the average roar -- and something else, something deeper, something that Theo can feel in his _bones_.

A roar, the responding low growls -- _one_ of them, in particular, that Theo is _embarrassed_ at his ability to pick out -- the continued gunshots, the clanging of a sword, a blood-curdling scream.

"No _way_ ," Isaac breathes.

The unmistakable call of a True Alpha and his pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) :) :)
> 
> feel free to scream at me in the comments, or on tumblr ([inabottlelikelightning](https://inabottlelikelightning.tumblr.com)) all feedback is appreciated!!
> 
> happy holidays xx  
> -lightning

**Author's Note:**

> Did I mean to write an entire scene with Liam and the Geyers? Absolutely not. I can't even remember if his mom ever even showed up in canon but fic talks about her a Lot and I thought _hey, she's probably pretty cool_ and then went on a writing binge at like 4:30 in the morning. Also fun fact: I have NO fucking idea what happened in canon because I finished my rewatch in like,,, june? And I really don't remember much besides the vague unfinished hunter situation. But don't worry, the s6 characters will show up here! Nolan and Alec and the puppy pack. Probably soon! But I really can't be bothered to watch the episodes again just to get the specifics right (my bad). So if anything here's like, _blatantly_ wrong, feel free to let me know and I'll fix it.
> 
> So? Tell me what you think. All feedback is welcome! (Including if you want to something specific in this story because I really haven't written that much of it haha) If you want to yell at me on tumblr, you can find me at [inabottlelikelightning](https://www.inabottlelikelightning.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [(Art) you only feel one emotion at a time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28214655) by [bobbersbme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbersbme/pseuds/bobbersbme)




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